till dawn, dear
by Becks Rylynn
Summary: Five lives Lila Bray Winchester never lived. Written for Lila Bray's third birthday extravaganza.
1. Chapter One

_AN: Well, all righty then, my peeps! Today is December 1st, so I am hereby starting the Bray-a-palooza. In case you don't know this - and some of you probably don't, because I can't remember if this is common knowledge or just something that's in my head - December 10th is Lila Bray's birthday. This year, my little girl is three years old! (Yeah, I'm aware she's a fictional little girl and if we're being technical, she's Dean and Ruby's little ficiontional girl, but go with the flow.) Naturally, I had to get her a gift. This year it's a bit of a big gift. I was supposed to write about her birth for her birthday, but then this happened (and I have no idea how this happened, by the way) and remember: we're going with the flow._

_I'm just going to put this out there now: It's highly unlikely that this story will actually be completed by the 10th of December, but it will be finished. This story is half Bray's birthday present and half my Christmas/New Year's present to my wonderful readers so I hope to at least get it finished by New Year's._

_Now, one last thing. Someone told me that their birthday is also on December 10th. Kathy (HopeJalice4ever) was it you? I feel like it was you. Happy Birthday to you! This story is also dedicated to you. I hope you have a great birthday! You get to share a birthday with Bray, you lucky girl. I get to share a birthday with Sting and Kelly Ripa._

_All titles from the song ''Dream a Little Dream of Me'' aka the Lila Bray 'verse theme song._

**Disclaimer: **I own none of the characters you recognize. I do, however, own Lila Bray and all other OC's from the Lila Bray 'verse. Be jealous.

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><p><strong>till dawn, dear<strong>

_Written by Becks Rylynn_

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><p>.<p>

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/1/

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**title:**_ while i'm alone and blue as can be  
><em>**summary:** post apocalyptic world. crossover.  
><strong>pairing(s): <strong>mentions of dean/ruby, ruby/damon salvatore, damon salvatore/caroline forbes, stefan salvatore/katherine pierce. hints at caroline/castiel, if you squint and rub your eyes and _really_ want to see it. some possible half invisible hints towards michael(spn's michael)/ruby, but it's another one you have to search for and it'd be pretty definite non-con.  
><strong>characters:<strong> bray. ruby. damon. michael. dean. short appearaces by katherine, stefan, caroline and cas.  
><strong>genre:<strong> horror/tragedy  
><strong>timeline:<strong> um...well, bray's eight (almost nine), so...2016-2017-ish...i think?  
><strong>spoilers: <strong>if you've seen season five of supernatural, you're good. spoilers throughout at least season two of tvd.  
><strong>warnings:<strong> crossover, character death (major and minor), gore, body stealing/possession/vessel-type badness, apocalypse, uncomfortable imagery, major, major angst.  
><strong>notes: <strong>kind of wish i had waited to write this one and stuck it in the middle, because this one is goddamn depressing and it is _not_ the best way to kick off a happy birthday extravaganza. oh, well.

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Her memories of her father are foggy. They're like old pictures that haven't developed properly and are now yellowed with age in addition to being blurry and out of focus. It's as if she's being held underwater and her vision will clear and her memories will be pristine if she can just make it to the surface. She was really little when she lost her dad. Only two and a half years old. Practically a baby still. Her memories of him are _flawed._ Aged and faded.

What she does remember is that she misses him terribly.

And she's talking about her real father here. Not Uncle Cas, not Damon, not Stefan and certainly not that...that _thing _that just walked right in and stole her father's face. Like it didn't matter. Like her father was nothing. She is talking about her_ dad. _The man who hung the moon for her.

Dean Winchester.

_Daddy._

She does remember that he loves her. That's probably one of the only things that she is one hundred percent certain of. It is crystal clear. Her dad loved her. He loves her so much. Her mom makes sure to tell her that every single night before she goes to sleep.

There are other things she remembers about him, too. They are just little bits and pieces of a map that makes a man, but at least they are something. She remembers the sound of his laughter when he was truly joyful, deep and rich as if it was coming straight from his heart. He liked to listen to old classic rock and he sang along at least half the time, hitting notes incorrectly, voice much too loud. He loved pie, drove with the windows rolled down even when it was cold out because the feel of the wind against his face reminded him that he was alive, drank maybe a little too much, and he used to jump in puddles with her, stomping around in the mud and the rain to make her laugh. His arms were safe. Warm. Smelled like gun powder and whiskey and cheap motel soap. She thinks he might've been more broken than he ever let her see, but he was her daddy and she adored every breath he ever took.

Her memories, as cut and torn as they may be, are the only things she has left of her dad. They are some of the only things that cannot be ravaged by this life and she hangs onto them with everything she has. They help her remember how to breathe on the nights when she can't remember what it feels like to be happy.

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Bray spends her days and most of her nights running.

She gets dirty, stays cooped up in the back of run down and stolen cars, and knows things girls her age aren't supposed to know. She doesn't think this is the way an eight year old should live life. She's not even sure if this can really even be considered living. She has no friends, she only spent three weeks in kindergarten before _he _released the Croatoan virus in an attempt to get Uncle Sam to show his face, and she hasn't had a true home since she was two.

She tries not to voice her discontent because she knows that it's killing her mom that this is their life, but sometimes...sometimes it just gets hard, you know? Sometimes she just wants to stay _still._ But there is nothing else for her. No other option. No other life. This is the way they survive. This is them outrunning the crumbling of the decaying world.

This is all there is.

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One night, Bray wakes to voices.

Tonight, she is sleeping in a bed for the first time in a week. She has spent the past week sleeping in the backseat of the truck at night while they tried to make their way to Virginia and, hopefully, some sort of safety. They got all the way to some town in Kentucky before Mom finally demanded that they find a place to stay for a night or two so that Bray could have a somewhat restful night of sleep in an actual bed.

As luck would have it, they managed to find a vacant house in a fairly normal looking neighborhood. The house is actually nice, if not a little cold because of the lack of heat. It's well put together, like a regular home, as if the owners went out to pick up the mail and never came home. Bray shudders at the thought and has to tell herself to stop thinking of such things because...because that's probably exactly what happened. She gets to sleep in a comfy bed with fluffy blankets, that's all that should matter right now.

When she goes to sleep, Mom is lying on her back beside her, fingers playing with the chain around her neck that she keeps Dad's ring on. Swallowing, Bray brushes hair out of her face, rolls onto her side and whispers out a raspy, ''Are you okay?''

Mom rolls over to face her with a sad smile. ''I'm fine, baby.'' She leans in close to kiss her daughter's forehead softly. ''Try to get some sleep, okay? We need to leave early.''

So Bray goes to sleep.

And then she wakes up in the middle of the night alone and she can hear raised voices coming from downstairs.

Curious, she slips out of bed, slinks down the pitch black hallway and tip toes down the first few steps to peer into the living room. Downstairs, her mother and Damon are locked in an intense staring match. Her mother looks tired. He looks frustrated.

Bray supposes she should find it odd that even though she's spent the last five years in Damon's company, she still doesn't_ really _know what to call him. Damon Salvatore is an old friend of her mom's and an acquaintance of Dad's. The story goes that before he..._went away_...Dad had put an emergency contingency plan in motion. He knew what he was doing was dangerous and he knew the risks and he wanted to make sure that his daughter was safe. The plan was that after he was gone, Damon would take on the role of Bray's - and to some extent, Mom's - bodyguard, because he was the only one supernaturally strong enough to do it and if Mom trusted him then that was good enough for Dad.

Bray doesn't think Dad thought about what would happen if Damon fell in love with Mom.

Which he did.

_Hard._

Because everybody falls in love with Mom.

It's so obvious. She's eight. She's not a moron. For the past several years, he has been the closest thing to a father figure that Bray will ever have. Almost like a quasi stepfather. He's possibly not the best role model, no, but he's all she's got. But he is not her dad. She has a dad. So it's not like she's going to start calling him Daddy Damon. And he scrunches up his nose and says, flatly, ''don't call me that'' when she calls him Uncle Damon. So he's always just been Damon to her. A good friend. Almost family.

He has always been just a little more to Mom.

Bray doesn't know the whole story, but what she does know, what she has been told - by numerous people - is that Mom had a brief fling with her old boyfriend Damon (apparently they knew each other in the 50's when Mom clawed her way out of Hell briefly and he was stalking The Rat Pack and they wound up in a volatile relationship) right before she got together with Dad. It was never really serious and it was never really healthy, but some part of them loved each other and will always love each other. ''They were star crossed,'' Aunt Caroline has told her. ''Never in the same place at the same time. But that's okay. They both ended up with the people they were supposed to be with.''

Yeah. Right. Mom ended up with Dad and Damon ended up with Aunt Caroline. ...Just two stories that didn't have happy endings, huh? Dad got _lost._ Aunt Caroline ended her on again/off again relationship with Damon for good when she realized that he had fallen back into love with Mom.

Nothing really ended up the way it was supposed to go.

Bray creeps a little closer to hear what they're saying. She figures they're arguing about stopping. Damon hadn't wanted to stop for the night, insisting that the place was too out in the open and it would be best to just keep going, but Mom put her foot down, saying that they all needed one night of rest. But that's not what they're fighting about. As these things usually go, all of the tension seems to have exploded.

''It's not that simple, Damon,'' Mom's saying tiredly, pulling her sweater tighter across her body.

''Oh, it is that simple and you know it,'' he fires back. ''What the fuck...What is it with you women? You can never see what's right in front of you; you all want more and more and more and nothing I do is ever good enough for you! It's pathetic.''

''Well, maybe if you weren't such a drama queen,'' she says, rolling her eyes.

''Hey.'' He catches her arm when she tries to move past him, spinning her around to face him. ''You think I don't mean it? I _mean it_, Ruby. You're not Caroline and I'm not Dean - '' Mom still flinches at the sound of his name '' - but we're all that's left.''

She looks, for a moment, like she's about to give in. But then she shakes her head and pulls her arm free. ''We don't have time for this crap,'' she says shortly. ''I have a daughter that needs protecting and anything else is unimportant. I thought you understood tha - ''

''Shut up.''

''You're the one that wanted to - ''

Damon's arms shoot out and he grabs Mom, yanking her into his chest, hand clapping over her mouth. ''Shut. Up,'' he hisses in her ear. ''Do you hear that?''

And then all hell breaks loose and there is no more running. There is an inhuman screaming noise, screeching and shrieking like a thousand banshees. Bray gasps in pain, hands going to her ears, still out of sight. Damon's eyes flick to the stairs like he knows she's there. All of the glass in the house cracks and explodes at the piercing noise. The door blows open. Bray ducks out of sight, back pressed against the wall, breaths coming in petrified gasps. She is already shaking, trembling knees quaking. She _knows_ who is about to walk through that door. She_ knows _what's coming. When the glass is on the floor and all has gone quiet, Bray presses herself back against the wall and closes her eyes tight.

She stopped bothering with prayers a long time ago.

Slow, calculated footsteps sound; the sound of boots crunching over the broken glass. ''Hello, Ruby,'' _It_ says softly, her name passing through stolen lips in a single breath.

Mom's voice is tight when she says his name, spitting it out like it's acid, ''Michael.''

Bray peeks around the corner just in time to see Damon rush at Michael in a blur of vampire speed, which is not an all around good idea. It is what Damon does. He is selfish and impulsive and reckless and impatient and overprotective and Bray doesn't know what she and her mother will do if he dies. But Michael doesn't kill him. Doesn't waste any time on him, wrapping his hand around Damon's neck and throwing him out the open window. Bray thinks she should run and hide now. She knows she should. It is what she has been _taught _to do. But...

It's been such a long time since she has seen her father's face. It's not her dad down there. Not anymore. And she knows that. It would be impossible not to know that. But just a minute longer. Just for a second. She looks around the corner.

Mom is looking out the window towards Damon, eyes completely clouded over with terror. She is breathing heavily when she turns back to Michael, eyes ablaze. ''He doesn't have anything to do with this,'' she tells him.

''He's an ant,'' Michael replies. ''Worthless.'' His eyes are surprisingly warm as he looks at her. ''You, on the other hand...'' He smiles. ''I rather like you.'' He is scruffy, unshaven, hair mussed as if he's just gotten out of bed. He's wearing a nice crisp white dress shirt that looks like it should be stained through with blood, and jeans that don't have holes in them. Not like the ones her dad used to wear. There is nothing about him that tells her Dean Winchester is still in there.

Bray has tried to tell herself stories over the years. Stories that give her hope that her dad is still in there. Fairytales about how he's trying to fight his way back to them and someday - some beautiful day - he will come home. But the truth is that he's long gone, leaving behind only Michael and mayhem. She claps a hand over her mouth to quiet her suddenly ragged breathing.

''You look tired,'' he says, caressing Mom's cheek much to her disgust. ''Tell me, my dear, have you been getting enough sleep?''

Mom barely even flinches, her eyes turning vivid black as she sneers at him. ''If you're going to kill me,'' she growls out strongly, ''do it already.''

Michael laughs. ''I don't want to kill you, Ruby.'' He leans in close, almost like he's going to kiss her. His eyes have gone cold. ''But if you don't tell me where Sam is...'' He grins at her, showing off his teeth. ''I do have a temper, you know. I cannot be held accountable for what I do when I'm angry.''

''I don't know where Sam is,'' Mom whispers.

''I'm having a little trouble believing you.'' He closes the space between them and wraps one arm around Mom's waist, pulling her to him as he brushes hair out of her face. ''Let me ask you a question.'' She squirms in his arms and the strong, fierce look on her face slips a little bit, the desperation showing through. Michael is still smiling that eerily calm smile that he has perfected, holding her by the arms and refusing to let her go when she struggles. ''Where. Is. Sam?''

Mom holds steady, meeting his eyes bravely. ''I don't know.''

''You're lying,'' he protests. ''You're always lying to me. It isn't very nice.''

She's not lying. She's not telling an untruth to protect Uncle Sam, like Michael probably thinks she is. Mom has no idea where he is. Nobody does. After Daddy... Uncle Sammy kind of fell off the grid, disappearing for good. Damon, who doesn't mince words, has voiced his opinion on the matter several times. ''Kid probably offed himself,'' he shrugs, forgetting all about that pesky sensitivity thing. ''It's what I would do.''

''Shall I try someone else then?'' Michael asks conversationally. ''Hm? What about Castiel? Do you...'' He lets go of her left arm to trail a finger down her cheek. ''...Have any idea where that filthy traitorous prodigal has gone?''

''Kill me,'' Mom snarls out through her teeth. ''Just get it over with. You know I'm not going to help you.''

Michael clicks his tongue in disapproval. ''Now, now, lovely,'' he tsks. ''Such animosity isn't good for your skin. You're going to give yourself wrinkles. How about sweet little Bray?'' His voice is a low purr, barely carrying up to Bray's hiding spot. It sends unpleasant shivers coursing through her body. ''Can you tell me where the little lamb is, lion girl?''

All at once, Mom snaps.

She wrenches herself free of his grasp with some difficulty and then she punches him. From the looks of it, the hit doesn't even bruise him, but it makes Mom grimace. ''I already told you,'' Mom says, voice trembling. ''I don't know anything.''

Maybe the lighting is off or something, because for a second, Bray swears she sees sorrow flashing on Michael's face. It makes him look almost like Dad again. ''You're right,'' he nods slowly. ''You don't. You're completely useless to me. What a shame.'' He shakes his head with a sigh. ''It's too bad, really.'' He reaches out and pulls her flush against him by the back of her neck once more. He tangles his hand in her blond hair and locks eyes with her.

Bray isn't sure what her mother sees in his eyes, but whatever it is, it seems to terrify her. ''Please,'' Mom begs. ''We can't stop you. You know we can't stop you. We're not threats.'' She clutches at his shirt as his free hand rakes over her body. ''I can find Sam for you!'' She gasps out when he yanks on her hair. ''We can...We can track him down for you. Just let us go. You can keep me as leverage, okay? Just let Damon and Bray go. I swear, they won't retaliate.''

Michael ignores her, apparently done talking for the time being. Effortlessly, like she is a feather, he hurls her across the room by her hair. She lands in a crumpled, unmoving heap and he is left holding her knife. With a frown and a huff, he smoothes down his shirt and turns to face the stairs with a great big smile.

Bray isn't quick enough in hiding her face and he sees her, letting out a small joyful laugh at the sight of her. She is struck by the sudden overwhelming feeling that she is going to die. ''Oh, sweetheart,'' his voice, crisp and cold, transforms back into the familiar and warm drawl that sounds just like her dad. ''Don't hide. It's just me.'' Something pulls her out of her hiding spot; something unseen and powerful that she can't fight. She stands frozen in plain sight, unable to move.

''No!'' Her mother's voice shatters whatever control he has over her and when Bray turns her head, her mother is struggling to her feet and her eyes are filled with desperate tears.

It all happens in the space of a blink.

Michael's face (because Dad sure as hell doesn't live there anymore) twists with frustration and he spins on his heel, sending Mom's knife hurtling through the air. And Mom...Mommy... She makes the most awful wet sort of gasping noise as the knife embeds itself into her body and takes her away. ''Is that what you wanted, Ruby?'' Michael asks.

(Bray doesn't know it, but the last thought that goes through her mother's head is that this is somehow fitting. The last two faces she ever sees are _theirs._)

''No!'' Sobs climb their way up Bray's throat and she starts to run down the stairs, without giving a thought to the fact that Michael is standing right there. She doesn't even care. ''Mom!'' She doesn't get very far. There is a sudden blur of movement in front of her and then two strong arms wrap around her. The next thing she knows, she's locked in the bedroom with her back pressed against the wall and a frantic Damon has one hand covering her mouth and a finger to his lips. Footsteps sound on the stairs, and even his stupid foot falls sound angry.

''We have to go,'' Damon whispers urgently. ''Now, Bray.''

''No,'' she scratches at his arm when he tries to drag her towards the window, her heels digging into the carpet. She's crying big fat tears and she feels like she can't breathe. ''No...No, Damon, please... We can't leave her here alone. It's _cold._ She'll...She'll get cold.''

He looks haggard in the moonlight and his voice is rough and growly when he snaps out, ''I made her a _promise, _Bray, and I fully intend to keep it.'' He grabs her around the waist despite her protests and they are gone by the time the door bursts open.

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They don't make it to Virginia.

None of them do.

Two days later, Bray and Damon are meeting Stefan and Katherine in Tennessee and Aunt Caroline (the only one who likes being called _Aunt_) and Uncle Cas are on their way to them from somewhere in Texas, where their search for Uncle Sam has taken them. And Mom is still on that floor of that house in Kentucky, cold and alone.

Bray wishes she didn't know what's going to happen next, but she does. She's going to die. That's it. This is the end. There isn't any hope left for her to find. Not under cushions, not in the stars, and not in her mother's eyes. There is no reason to believe. Her parents' are gone and she loves Damon, but he can't protect her from Michael. Nobody can.

Stefan doesn't look like he has any idea of what to say to her when he sees her and Katherine isn't exactly one for compassion, so nobody says anything at all and Damon and Stefan start making plans right away. Plans to protect her. Get her to a safe house. Keep her alive.

Huh.

Kinda funny, isn't it?

It was always meant to be two brothers and their less than kind/inhuman/Buffy-like companion who kept her alive.

In the run down old shack that Katherine and Stefan have been staying in for obviously quite awhile, Bray quickly excuses herself and locks herself in the dirty bathroom with her bag. She stares at herself in the mirror for what feels like a long time, at her swollen and red eyes, at her trembling lips. She hasn't stopped crying since Mom... Since she... She has to look away from her reflection. With a deep breath, she begins to try to clean herself up the best she possibly can. She washes her face and all the way up to her elbows and she scrubs her hands until they are positively raw. Then she tries to comb out her long unruly blond hair, but the tangles are too thick. She changes her clothes and brushes her teeth, but she still feels dirty in the end.

She feels blood on her hands.

She looks back into the mirror. Everything hurts. She doesn't feel eight years old anymore. (It's not fair.)

''Bray,'' Damon knocks on the door. ''I need to be able to see you.''

There's something strange about that sentence.

She sends one last look at the mirror. She'd like to be able to see Bray, too.

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Everyone will die in the end.

That's just the way it was always going to go. She thinks it might have been fated. You can't run from Michael. When he wants something, he gets it. He took Dad. Mom. He'll get Bray too. She's perfectly aware of that now. It's only a matter of time. She is now convinced that Mom knew that.

Michael finds them in less than a week. He blows through like a storm. A tornado that just sweeps over them and doesn't leave any survivors. Bray is in the bedroom when he comes, rifling around in her mother's duffel bag in search of something to put her hair up with, and then she hears the front door quite literally explode. She can picture it cracking and splintering apart. Instinctively, she abandons her task and starts to race for the open door, but it slams shut and she hears Damon grunt when she throws herself against the door.

''Oh,'' she hears Michael sigh. ''It's just a bunch of blood whores.''

Stefan is the first one to go. Bray can hear it happen through the door. She wagers that Stefan got in Michael's way pretty fast, most likely trying to stop him from entering the house, because she hears his pained grunt and then a ripping sound, followed by Katherine's scream. And then there's a thud and everything goes quiet for a moment.

That's when her self-preservation instincts kick in. Her mother died to protect her and Bray will not let her mother's death be for nothing. If Michael wants her dead, he's going to have to catch her first. She sprints towards the grimy window in the bedroom and pulls desperately at the latch, willing it to open. It doesn't budge; poor thing is completely rusted shut. She hears muffled voices coming from the other side of the door along with what she thinks might be whimpers coming from Katherine. Her heart is racing in her chest. She looks around the room for something - anything - that she can use to break the window and finally finds a heavy flashlight at the bottom of her mother's bag.

She really has no clue what she's doing. She doesn't have any plans or any concept of what's going to happen next. She just knows she has to find a way to stay alive. When she smashes the flashlight against the window, the class cracks. When she swings it a second time, the glass shatters noisily. There is a deafening crash from the other room. Glass cuts through the palms of her hands and then her arms as she begins to lift herself out the window, but she barely feels it, adrenaline pumping through her body wildly. The fresh air that assaults her face is the best feeling in the world. It means some sort of freedom.

Right up until a strong hand grabs onto her ankle and _pulls_. She screams and tries to hold onto the window ledge, but the grip is too strong. She is yanked back in through the window without any sort of care and her back hits the ground hard. Cold and angry green eyes stare down at her like she is a worm. She is still screaming. He opens his mouth to greet her, lips twitching upwards, but before he can, a dainty hand curls around the collar of his shirt, picks him up, and throws him up against the opposite wall.

Katherine, fangs and all, moves to stand in front of Bray. She has never looked so angry. Bray thinks it's mostly because she spent half of an eternity loving Stefan and Michael just killed him, but it also might be because there is a part of Katherine that is still a mother, no matter how old and shriveled up that part may be. ''You want her,'' she hisses, ''you're going to have to go through me.''

Michael frowns and gets to his feet, straightening his black trench coat. ''I have no problem with that,'' he shrugs.

Bray clutches her injured arm and ignores the way her cheek is stinging from a deep gash across her skin, and begins to crawl towards the door.

''Katerina Petrova,'' Michael says slowly. ''I've heard a lot about you.''

In an instant, Katherine has sped across the room and pushed him back up against the wall. ''All good things, I hope,'' she murmurs breathily.

Two arms come out of nowhere and haul Bray to her feet, dragging her out of the room and towards the front door. Damon, pissed off and glowery, leads Bray to the door and can't even bring himself to look at the gray corpse of his brother, lying heartless on the floor.

''Piece of advice, Ms. Petrova,'' Michael is saying from behind them. ''You probably shouldn't have gotten this close to me. It only makes it easier for me to do this.'' The sound of Katherine yelping in pain has Bray's heart dropping to her stomach. It is followed by the most horrific crunching noise in the world and when she hears it, Bray makes the mistake of looking over her shoulder. She doesn't think she will ever be able to forget the sight of Katherine's body crumpling brokenly to the floor as Michael tosses her head aside.

And then, of course, the door slams shut before they can run free. This doesn't seem to deter Damon, though. Pushing Bray behind him, he turns around to face Michael with a pleasant smirk, as if they're old friends. ''Neat trick,'' he says.

He lets go of Bray's hand.

She gets the sinking suspicion that it's all over.

Damon is grinning, all teeth and arrogance as he sizes up Michael as if the archangel is just another lowly creature that doesn't deserve Damon's attention. ''But you know what, old man? I've got a few tricks of my own.'' He flashes forwards and Michael goes crashing into the wall, practically smashing a hole in the already rotted and unstable wood. ''You're not taking the girl,'' Damon warns. ''I made a promise.''

''You know,'' Michael muses thoughtfully. ''In a lot of ways, Damon, I have a...certain level of respect for you. Everything you do is for love, is that not correct? Look at you.'' He cackles and shakes his head. ''You promised to protect that little thing until the end of the world - you promised to die for her - because you loved Ruby. There's respect in that.'' Michael shoves at Damon's chest. It barely looks like a tap. It's a playground shove. Like a little boy pushing someone into the mud. But it sends Damon up into the air and back down to the ground. He slides across the floor, coming to a stop right next to his deader than usual brother. ''But there is also weakness.''

Whimpering, Bray grapples with the doorknob and tries to turn it, but it won't turn. Michael doesn't want her to leave and so she's not leaving. ''Oh, now,'' the angel in question throws her what looks like an honestly kind smile. ''You just get comfortable, lamb. You and I are going to have a long overdue chat, sooner rather than later.'' He snaps his head back to Damon just in time to catch the fist that is thrown at his face too quickly for Bray to even see. He tilts his head to the side curiously. ''You will lose,'' he warns.

Damon groans when Michael twists his arm back, but doesn't give up. He _never_ gives up. It's what will kill him in the end, Bray suspects miserably. When Damon sends a kick to Michael's legs, the body responds by buckling slightly and Damon uses it to his advantage, sweeping Michael off his feet. Michael goes down hard on his back and then Damon hefts him right back to his feet and throws him. ''Don't be so sure about that, dick.''

Bray tips a table over and takes refuge behind it, shielding both her and Stefan's body from the fight. She knows that if it were her mother's body... She'd want to know that her family was protected. When a body is thrown into the table - and she's not sure whose body it is - she throws herself over Stefan's cold body to protect him. Face buried in the shirt of a dead man, tears begin to prickle behind her eyes and she tries to tune out the sounds of violence that she can't get away from.

What is she supposed to do now?

She squeezes her eyes shut, stifles her sobs, and tries to remember how to wish. If she could have just one wish... She'd wish for things to be different. A different life. A better life.

A final, staggering crash brings her back to her unfortunate reality and she holds her breath. Slowly, reluctantly, she starts to rise to her feet. Is there really anything else she can do now except resign herself to her fate? Look around. There's no one else left to protect her now. She fully expects to see Michael standing there, basking in the glow of being the last one standing. But when she stands and spots Damon standing there, she lets out a cry and races forwards, throwing herself into his arms.

''Come on,'' he says instantly, taking her hand. ''We have to get out of here.'' He throws a look at the broken window, listening for any sign of Michael. ''He's already getting back up.''

''Wait!'' She cries out breathlessly. ''What about your brother and Katherine?''

He hesitates for barely a second, but a second is long enough. ''We don't have time to - '' He breaks off quite suddenly in a strangled gasp and his eyes widen as unconceivable pain begins to seep into his irises. Horror creeps into every inch of her as she watches his skin begin to gray, veins breaking out on his face. She lowers her gaze to the stake jutting out of his chest and she screams, hands clapping over her mouth. ''Bray,'' he rasps out, and he falls limply to the ground.

She feels her hysteria begin to grow. ''No!'' She drops to her knees, digging her fingers into Damon's shirt. ''Damon!'' She shakes him fruitlessly. ''Damon, wake up! Wake up!'' She raises glassy and terrified eyes to Michael, who is clapping his hands together like he's ridding himself of vampire germs. He looks positively disgusted at the sight of the corpses surrounding them.

But he smiles when he looks at Bray, disgust forgotten. He puts one hand on his hip and waggles a finger at her. ''I have been looking all over for you.''

She sniffles and scrambles to her feet, stumbling away from him. ''Please,'' she begs, backing away. ''...Don't...''

''You think I'm going to hurt you?'' He looks offended by that suggestion, taking slow and deliberate steps towards her. ''I would never hurt you,'' he says plainly. ''You're too important, lamb.''

''Stop calling me that,'' she whimpers. Her back hits the wall and she gasps, startled. Tears flow down her cheeks as he gets closer and closer and she collapses to the ground, trembling violently. ''W-What do you want with me?''

''I want you,'' he sighs and crouches in front of her, ''to be my leverage. See, if your annoying little - and that's figuratively little, by the way - uncle knows that I have you... Well, he'll come running.''

''No, he won't.'' She shakes her head. ''He won't. He'll know it's a trap.''

''Oh, Bray. Sweet, innocent, naive little Bray.'' He reaches out to touch her cheek and she shrinks back against the wall.

''Please...Please, no...'' His hand comes into contact with her cheek, his rough and calloused hand brushing against her soft skin. All she feels is disgust and contempt and terror. That is not the way a girl should feel when her father touches her cheek. A sob gets caught in her throat like a rock, constricting her airflow.

Something happens when he touches her cheek. The look in his eyes, the eerie calm... It drains away, replaced by panic. ''No.'' He stares at her, an odd and desperate sort of regret flooding through his eyes when he sees the fear on her face. It's entirely out of character for Michael. ''Oh, god...'' His eyes glisten and he practically throws himself away from her, breathing heavily. ''I warned you,'' he growls out with some difficulty, wheezing in pain. She doesn't think he's talking to her anymore. ''I told you... You don't get to touch her...''

Bray struggles to her feet, looking at him apprehensively. No. No, it's a trick. It can't be him. It has to be a trick. She approaches him carefully and hesitantly, mouth gaping in shock. ''...Dean?'' He can barely stand, holding onto the back of a chair for support, body shuddering, back to her. She swallows. ''...Dad? Daddy, is that...is that you?''

He whirls around suddenly and lurches towards her, grabbing her shoulders. She shrieks in shock and fear and his grip on her instantly loosens. ''Lila Bray,'' he breathes out her name like it is the best thing he has ever said. As if it sucks all the air out of him just to say her name. She starts to cry again, sorrow-filled and wistful sobs. Nobody has ever called her Lila Bray. Not since he went away. ''Get out,'' he pleads with her. ''Please... Run... Go as fast as you can, just...just get away from me.''

To her credit, she means to listen to him. She starts to run. She spins away from him and makes a mad dash to the door and she almost makes it outside. Her intent is to get away. But then she stops. She stops because it's her dad. (Besides, she tells herself, what's the point? Michael's going to find her even if she runs.) She turns back for one last look and when she sees him collapse to the ground, back against the wall, struggling just to breathe, she makes a reckless decision that could very well end with her dead. She decides to stay. Rushing forwards, she goes down on her knees next to him. ''Dad,'' she chokes out. ''Oh my god, Daddy...'' She can't see any visible injuries on his body, but he's coughing and can barely breathe. She's willing to bet he has internal bleeding.

''No,'' he gasps out, trying to push her away roughly. ''Stay away. Go... Please, I'm begging you, go. ...He's still here. ...He'll come back.'' He looks at her with dull, tired and broken eyes. ''I can't protect you.''

''I'm staying,'' she says firmly. ''Right here. I won't leave you.''

''You have to,'' he insists weakly.

''No.'' She all but climbs into his lap, wrapping herself up in his weakened embrace and holding on as tightly as she can. ''You can...You can fight him.'' She nods. ''Y-You can fight him off and take back control and - ''

''I can't,'' he whispers. ''I can't, sugar. I'm not strong enough anymore.''

''But you can't leave me again!'' Tears blur her vision and her head begins to hurt from all the crying. ''I can't lose you again, Dad! I don't have anyone else.''

''I'm sorry,'' his voice is soft and breathy. There is a light trickle of blood coming from his mouth and his teeth are coated in blood. ''I'm so sorry. I thought...I thought it was the only option. ...I just wanted it all to be over. I thought he would make it better...'' A fractured dry sob rips out of his lips and he coughs. ''He promised me he wouldn't go after you and your mom...'' His eyes fill with tears and overflow. ''...Your mom... I _loved_ her so much.''

''I-I know,'' she pushes hair out of her face and threads her hand through his. ''Don't try to talk, okay? You're hurt.''

''I'm dying,'' he corrects, ''and I need you to go. Before he comes back.''

''Well, so let him come back!'' She wails. ''Let him come back and take me! I don't have anything else left! I don't mean anything anymore, Daddy. So what's the point? At least if I stay, I'll be with you.''

He looks angry. Not Michael angry, either. This is much more...passionate. Real. ''No,'' he snarls out. ''You'll be with an animated corpse. Listen to me,'' he moves forwards and cups her cheek, bringing his forehead to hers. ''Don't think even for a second that you don't mean anything because you mean everything,'' he squeezes her hand. ''Fucking _everything._ And I will not let you die because of a mistake I made. I need you to live, Lila Bray. I need you to be brave. Because I love you, my beautiful..._beautiful _little girl. I love you...and if you die...'' He closes his eyes. Lets out a breath. ''...I know you're scared. ...But you need to be strong. Do it for me.''

She nods shakily, making a half hearted attempt to stop crying. ''Okay.''

''Okay.'' He kisses her forehead gently and draws away from her. His hands fall away from her and he collapses back against the wall. ''Now, go. Quick.''

She stands, even though she doesn't want to, but remains hovering over her father, unable to make herself walk away.

''Go.'' He locks eyes with her, giving her a stern glare. ''Sugar, go!''

She goes. She stumbles back out into the fresh air, the sky quickly brightening overhead as the sun rises. She can barely breathe around her tears and her head is pounding, but she runs anyway, down the steps and out into the trees. She doesn't get far, her clumsy and uncoordinated feet tripping over rocks and branches as she runs through the woods. Sharp branches tangle in her hair as she runs and hit her in the face, scratching her skin. It's not fast enough to outrun Michael, but she has to try. There's a noise from behind her, the snapping of a twig, and she whips around. When she turns back, there is a familiar blonde in front of her. A cool hand latches onto her, lifts her up and then everything is a blur.

It stops within seconds and then she's got her feet planted on a gravel road, far away from the cabin in the woods. Stunned by the unexpectedly fast pace, she collapses to her hands and knees, nauseous and dizzy from the speed. She manages not to puke, blinking away the water in her eyes. She looks up, gulping for breath and meets Aunt Caroline's wet and concerned eyes. The door to a big and old green pick up with a worn paint job slams shut and the second she gets to her feet, Uncle Cas is running towards her and skidding to a halt, falling to his knees in the gravel and pulling her into his arms. He holds onto her forever and when he lets go, Aunt Caroline grabs her in a fierce hug and sobs into her neck. Bray wants to apologize about Damon 'cause she knows Aunt Caroline was still in love with him despite everything, but she can't force the words out.

''It's just you and me now, isn't it, Lila?'' Uncle Cas asks softly.

She meets his eyes and doesn't answer. She thinks this would be the part where she breaks down and cries some more, but she doesn't. She can't. Her eyes have gone dry. She looks back behind her into the trees where she left Damon and Katherine and Stefan and _Daddy. _She closes her eyes and all she can see is her mother. She gulps and looks down at the ground. She doesn't feel angry. Or scared. Or full of grief. She wishes she did. As it is...

...She can't feel anything anymore.

**end part one**

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><p><strong>AN: I am so very, very sorry about this. My mother has told me I should apologize for this. She read it and she bawled her eyes out twice and now she's trying to wipe it from her memory because it depressed her so much. She doesn't even like Damon and she was crying when he died. Her exact words were, through the tears, ''OH MY GOD, WHY WOULD YOU WRITE THIS? WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO HER?'' So, I apologize. I promise the next 'life she never lived' will be at least a little bit lighter.<strong>


	2. Chapter Two

_AN: I'm back with another life Lila Bray Winchester never lived. And this one is a little less angsty and tragic, thank God. Special shout out to __**ParaCaerOuVoar **__otherwise known as __**Cantati**__ who, as I have just recently learned, also has a birthday coming up! Two days before Lila Bray's big b-day, in fact, so Happy Birthday to you too, friend! My goodness, everyone has a birthday this month, don't they? Hope you all enjoy this new chapter._

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

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><p><strong>till dawn, dear<strong>

_Written by Becks Rylynn_

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><p>.<p>

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**title:**_ night breezes seem to whisper ''i love you''  
><em>**summary:** pilot au. halloween '05: dean still shows up on his brother's doorstep and everything. he's just got company.  
><strong>pairing(s): <strong>dean/ruby. sam/jess.  
><strong>characters:<strong> dean. sam. bray. jess. ruby. mentions of john, joey daniels (omc), and yellow eyes.  
><strong>genre:<strong> romance/family  
><strong>timeline:<strong> late 2005  
><strong>spoilers: <strong>blanket spoilers for at least seasons one through three.  
><strong>warnings:<strong> talk of past drug use, mentions of a past suicide attempt, post partum psychosis, lots and lots and lots of coarse language (my headcanon is that the boys swear a lot in present time, but during the earlier seasons when they were younger and a little more footloose and fancy free, they swore constantly. as in they swore like it was going out of style)...

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Sam staggers in the dark towards the door, grumbling under his breath about the late hour and ''who the fuck shows up at one in the morning?'' It's a little late for trick-or-treaters, isn't it? He makes it all the way to the door without banging into anything, so yay for that, but his mood is only nose diving further as he continues to force his heavy eyelids open. ''Zach,'' he mumbles, ''if you're drunk again, so help me God...'' He throws open the door with a monster yawn and is greeted with the last sight he ever expected to see. ''...Dean?''

His brother stands on the other side of the threshold, looking tired but just as cocky as ever. Same smirk, same leather jacket, same twinkle in his eye... Everything is the same. Well, almost everything. The number one thing that has changed - and it is, admittedly, a big fucking thing - is that the last time Sam saw Dean, he didn't have a baby in his arms. This Dean, however, does. He's standing there smirking and he's got a sleeping baby in his arms and nothing will ever be the same again.

After a tense moment of silence, Dean finally speaks up. ''Heya, Sammy,'' he greets cheerfully. ''Can we come in?''

Um.

Holy shit.

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Hey, look.

Say what you want about Dean Winchester, but he tries his hardest at life. All of the damn time. His life is not smooth sailing, all right? His life sucks monkey balls. He has a ten month old baby girl he's trying to raise all by himself, a relationship that cannot be defined with said baby girl's mother who likes to filter in and out of his life and their daughter's life as she pleases, a job he has to keep, and he hasn't spoken to his little brother in years. He has enough on his plate as it is.

So, no, he _doesn't _need this shit right now. He doesn't want any damn trouble, all right? But unfortunately for him, trouble is still all he's got. His father is _missing._ Yeah, okay, maybe it's only been a couple of days since Dad was supposed to check in, but Dean knows something is wrong. He knows it. He can feel it. Something is wrong. Something is...starting.

He will admit, though, that this is not the way he pictured telling Sammy about Bray. In hindsight, he probably should have just plucked up the courage to pick up the fucking phone the day Ruby showed him the positive pregnancy test like his instinct told him to do.

The drive from LA to Palo Alto is exactly 356 miles. That's not a horrible drive. Except he's traveling with a ten month old. The drive, which should take about five hours, even less with Dean's track record, takes a whole fucking day and it is fucking _one in the morning _by the time they get to Sam's place. Perhaps it wouldn't have taken as long (still would've taken longer than usual, what with all the stops and the fact that Bray screamed every time they had to get back into the car) if Dean hadn't driven like a snail, but he always drives obnoxiously slow when he's got his girl in the car. On the way home from the hospital, Ruby bitched so much about his sluggish pace that he almost kicked her out of the car.

Bray is zonked out in her car seat, drooling, and Dean has called his father's cell at every single stop on the way here. Still nothing new. The dread is growing. He hesitates before he knocks on the door, looking down at his daughter bundled in his arms, drool seeping through his shirt. He just...pauses. Not for long. Just momentarily. As much as it kills him to admit it, he's not totally sure he knows how to talk to his brother anymore. He heaves out a sigh and runs his hand up and down Bray's back. ''You're finally gettin' to meet your Uncle Sammy and you're not even awake.''

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and knocks on the door.

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And okay, so here's where they are. Being a Winchester has always been about rolling with the punches.

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Jess doesn't know a whole lot about Sam's family. He has never told her much and she has never pressed to know more than he wants her to. The way she sees it, he'll tell her when he's good and ready and not a second before. She's fine with that; she is. But when she wakes up in the middle of the night and finds Sam standing in the living room bickering with a dude who is holding a whimpering baby, she can't help the surprised squeak of ''oh'' that escapes her lips. Which is then followed - after he tells her that this is the famed Dean - by a, ''...Sam didn't tell me you had a baby.''

Dean shuffles, sighs and nibbles on his bottom lip. She swears for a second that she sees him blush.

Sam folds his arms across his chest and says quietly, ''That's because I didn't know.''

Oh. Yikes.

Somehow, after listening to the Winchester brothers and their vague and tense argument, she manages to get Dean to reluctantly hand over the diaper bag and his now wide awake and curious baby girl - ''Lila Bray. But, um..._Bray. _You can call her Bray. She hates when people who aren't me call her by her full name. She does this nose scrunching thing. It's actually fucking adorable, but it means that she hates you, so...you know..._don't_.'' - and then she pushes the two brothers into the kitchen and tells them to talk it out while she looks after the baby. She thinks, idly, that this might be kind of like sticking two lions in a cage together and telling them to fight to the death.

It may not end well.

It's not like she prides herself on being the most maternal person in the world, but she did used to babysit and she does have a lot of little cousins, so she likes to consider herself at least halfway decent with babies. It also certainly helps that this kid is weirdly laid back. Jess is going to go ahead and guess that she takes after her dad, probably. Oh, and also? Holy crap. This baby is serious cute. She's, like, _perfect. _Blond hair, blue eyes, adorable little gummy smile. She's going to grow up and she's going to kill people with her beauty. She's going to grow up to have freaking pin up girl beauty. Jess can tell.

After she changes the happy baby's diaper, she makes her way out of the bedroom and back down the hall and...she doesn't mean to eavesdrop. Honest. It just kind of happens. She doesn't want to intrude on a private moment, but she wants to be there for Sam and so she just kind of winds up lurking around the corner listening to them bicker.

''You were supposed to tell me, that's what you were supposed to do,'' Sam is muttering darkly. ''You pick up the goddamn phone and you say, _hey, bro, hope everything's going good for you in the sunshine state, just thought I'd let you know that I'm currently residing a mere five hours away from you and oh, by the way, THE CONDOM BROKE!''_

''...Can't break if you're not wearin' one,'' Dean fires back flippantly.

''Oh. My. God.''

''Wha - Hey! Don't look at me like that! She told me she was on somethin'! Least I think she did. I don't know. I don't really remember. Dude, we were both _so _wasted that night.''

''There is something seriously wrong with you.''

''Look! I'm sorry, okay? Next time Ruby pops out a kid, I'll be sure to send you a fucking telegram!''

There's a long beat of silence and then Sam says, voice low and incredulous, ''Ruby?''

Jess hears Dean sigh. ''Jesus, Sam, don't - ''

''Fucking _Ruby, _Dean? Oh, well, that's awesome. So, not only did you knock someone up, but you knocked up the _weirdest, flightiest chick on the face of the earth_!''

''Sam, don't start this.''

''Guess I should have seen this one coming. The girl is loony tunes, Dean!''

''She is a _free fucking spirit_!''

''She's a wacko!''

''...Don't talk about her like that.'' There's another tense moment of silence after Dean's thinly veiled threat and Jess looks down at the baby in her arms with a small frown. She's going to have the strangest family ever. ''I don't want to fight with you, man,'' he sighs. ''That's not what I came here for. I came here because I need your help. It's Dad. He's missing.''

''Missing,'' Sam repeats slowly, like the word isn't getting through. ''What do you mean missing?''

''I mean, he was on a case and he was supposed to check in with me three days ago, but he hasn't.''

Jess licks her lips. A case. What does that mean?

Sam clears his throat. ''What was he hunting?''

Annnd that's how Jess learns about what her boyfriend's family really does.

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By mid morning, Dean's apartment in LA has more people in it than ever before and he's calling in sick at the restaurant because everything is all fucked up. Again. It's impossible to leave hunting behind, it would seem, and some part of him knew that, but he had hoped that it wouldn't come back to bite him in the ass for at least a few years. Maybe then Ruby would be a little more reliable and it wouldn't just be him and Bray alone. God, could things in his life get more complicated? Is that even possible? (Don't ask stupid questions.) His father's missing, his brother's back (momentarily) and his brother's girlfriend has apparently become his daughter's new best friend because the girl's got moxie and once she learned about the supernatural like hell was she going to let them go off alone on a case with a baby.

Dean approves. Marry that girl, Sammy.

Sometime in between figuring out where Dad is and decoding Dad's last message, Dean sneaks off into his daughter's room and presses speed dial.

She doesn't pick up.

''Hey, Ruby,'' he tells her voicemail, ''it's me. I'm just checking in. Thought I'd let you know that Bray's doing good. Great, even. We're both...great. It's just, um... I don't know if your dad's told you, but... Well, it's nothing really, but if you happen to hear anything about my dad, call me, okay?'' He fidgets uncomfortably, pinching the bridge of his nose. ''I know that's a long shot. Why would you hear anything about a Winchester in Paris, right? Or...wherever you are this week. Amsterdam, Italy, fucking Cleveland. Just call me, all right? I really need...to hear your voice. And I know that sounds stupid. Considering. But... Just fucking call.'' He flips the phone shut and lets out a breath.

Your move, Ruby.

There is no part of him that honestly believes she's going to call him back.

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Finding out where Dad was last (Jericho, California) is the easy part. It's the rest of the stupid shit that sucks ass. As fast as he possibly can, Dean makes arrangements with work (which is surprisingly easy because his boss is a fucking godsend), cancels his date with the hot barista from the Starbucks down the street (which probably wasn't a good idea anyway) and gets Jess to reluctantly agree to stay behind and look after Bray despite the fact that she seems eager to go along with them and kick evil's ass. Seriously, Sammy, _marry_ that girl.

He doesn't want to leave his kid. He really doesn't want to leave her. It's been just Daddy and Bray for the past six months and he hasn't left her overnight since Ruby left, but it's necessary. He rambles off long lists to Jess about what to do, how to get Bray to sleep, what she'll eat, her favourite song, her favourite toy, where everything is. He even offers to pay her for the inconvenience, but all he gets in response to that is a, ''Don't be ridiculous, Dean.''

They leave in the middle of the night, and he's well aware that Sam is staring at him incredulously during his frantic babbling. And some part of him just wants to say _what the fuck are you so surprised about, you big Sasquatch? I raised you and you turned out pretty good, wouldn't you say?_

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''You...quit hunting,'' Sam points out as he's wrenching open the door of the Impala, hand resting on the top of the car, lingering like he's missed it.

Dean snorts and looks down at the keys dangling in his hands, then up at the apartment building. ''Course I did,'' he opens the driver's side door and climbs in. ''What else was I supposed to do?''

''And you live in LA,'' Sam continues, settling himself in the passenger seat. ''With the sun. And beaches. And _the sun._''

''Yep.''

''...But you hate the sun, Dean. You freckle.''

''Well,'' Dean turns the key in the ignition. ''To be honest with you, dude, pretty much everything that got me here happened accidentally.''

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Standing in the gas station alone with sulky Sam sifting through his cassette tape collection in the car, Dean stares at the pitiful selection of processed food and blows out a disappointed breath. Well, it's official. He has spoiled himself with all of the real food he has been consuming (and cooking) for the past year. 'Cause all of this shit looks way beyond unappetizing. Absently snatching up some energy bars and Gatorade, he pulls out his phone and presses speed dial. Again.

''Ruby!'' He greets her voicemail jovially with a great big smile on his face. ''Hey, _babe, _it's Dean again. I just thought you should know that I had to go out of town for a couple days so if you call the apartment and a chick answers, that's just Jess. She's Sam's girlfriend. Yeah, Sammy's back, by the way. I'm...sure he'd love to see you, so...if you get the chance, maybe you could...I don't know...stop by. See Sam. See that kid of ours. And that's it, so... Bye.''

He ends the call, places his items on the counter and looks up at the gangly, pimply teenage boy standing behind the counter who is staring at him. Dean scowls. ''What?''

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The question has been on Sam's mind ever since Dean came breezing back into his life, quite theatrically with a baby, but it's obviously a sore spot for Dean. And so Sam doesn't say anything. For awhile. But here's the thing: Sam is Sam and Sam knows Dean better than Dean knows Dean. He can see the weight his brother is carrying on his shoulders. It's a weight that wasn't there when Sam left and he wants to know what the fuck is going on. He'd like to be told that the assumptions he's trying to conceal are all wrong.

See, Sam knows Ruby. He's been privy to all of the messed up Dean/Ruby drama since he was thirteen years old. He knows how the story goes. Dean and Ruby will hunt, fuck, scream at each other and then she'll leave, tip toeing out at dawn, wearing Dean's shirt over her jeans. A few weeks later, maybe a month, they'll meet up again and repeat the cycle. It's been that way since they met. Ruby must have a collection of Dean's shirts by now. Dean has scars on his knuckles from punching walls. The truth is, to be frank, that Ruby Daniels is a perfectly _fine_ girl. Her father is a trusted Winchester ally, a great hunter, and a good man. The Daniels family is like _this _with the Winchester men.

And Ruby is a loyal, fierce, strong girl who will jump in front of a monster for you no questions asked. She has a lot of intelligence, a lot of wit and humor, and a lot of heart. And Sam loves her like a sister. But she is also bitchy, blunt, rude, stubborn, obnoxious, irresponsible to the ninth degree, and sometimes a tad on the ditzy side of things. For the first three years that Sam knew her, she was high at least half of the time. The drug phase ended, thank God, but she was still...

She's a perpetual party girl who suffers from Peter Pan syndrome, all right? There's no other way of putting it.

And Dean... Well, Dean's a fucking volcano. He listens to loud music that will burst your eardrums, drives too fast, curses like a sailor, drinks like a fish, hasn't held down a steady and honest job in years, gets into bar fights and has a lot of sex. You take two unstable people like Dean and Ruby and you throw a child into the mix, a child who needs constant love and attention and responsibility and...

Look, can you blame Sam for being a little apprehensive? It's not that he lacks faith in his brother, it's really not; it's more that he lacks faith in Ruby.

In the car, on their way to Jericho, rock blasting quietly throughout the space of the car, Sam finally blurts it all out. ''Dean...where's Ruby?''

His brother stiffens noticeably, hands curling tight around the steering wheel. ''Not here.''

Sam rolls his eyes. ''_Obviously. _Can you not be a stubborn dick about this?''

''She's gone, Sam,'' Dean replies shortly.

''Gone where?'' Sam rubs at his forehead. ''Is she..._okay_?''

A bitter bark of laughter is his response to that, followed by, ''You mean is she off somewhere out of her mind with drugs and pole dancing her way to a stereotypical TV movie death in a dirty alley?''

Sam slouches in his seat. ''That's not what I said.''

Dean sends him a sharp look. ''But that's what you meant, isn't it? Because that's all she fucking is to you, right? Some strung out worthless stripper?''

''Hey!'' Okay, ow. ''Don't put words in my mouth, Dean! You're not the only person in this world who loves her. Okay? I love her too. Maybe not like you love her - fucking nobody loves anybody the way you love her...to the point of fucking destruction - but I love her. I just don't - ''

''What?'' Dean snaps. ''You just don't like her?''

''It's not that I don't like her.''

''Then what?''

Sam is silent for a long time. ''...Okay, I don't like her. I love her like family, but you deserve better.'' He sighs and stops talking. _Well, _he thinks, _that could have sounded better. _In his defense, it didn't sound so dickish in his head. He should probably not say anything else. He knows that downright homicidal look in Dean's eyes and he does not want it directed at him.

''Impossible,'' Dean scoffs.

Sam frowns. ''You don't think you deserve better?''

''I don't think there is better,'' Dean says, and all goes quiet.

Sam can argue with a lot (he's pre-law, for God's sake) but he can't argue with the sincerity in Dean's voice. Picking at his cuticles anxiously, he slumps back into his seat, watching the miles stretch before them. ''You never answered my question properly,'' he finally says lowly, eyes still on the open road. ''I want you to answer my question.'' Beside him, Dean pales drastically. ''Where is Ruby, Dean?''

''Ruby,'' Dean answers, ''is currently handling some other things in her life that don't happen to involve us at the moment.'' He recites it all flawlessly, like it's something he's said before. A script.

Sam shakes his head. Oh, for fuck's sake, Ruby. Is it virtually impossible for you to get your fucking shit together? ''Translation,'' he begins dryly, ''she left. Am I right?''

Dean flinches, which is confirmation enough, and reaches out to turn the volume up.

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In Jericho, Dean calls Ruby again because his hands are numb from gripping the steering wheel too tightly and because he misses Bray. ''Sam fucking hates you,'' he deadpans into the phone. ''I think he thinks you're some kind of irresponsible deadbeat. Sometimes I think I hate you too. Don't you think it would be easier, Ruby? To hate each other? Isn't that always easier? But I don't. I can't. I don't know how to hate you. And I want you to come home. I want you to walk through that door and prove Sam wrong. ...Fuck, woman...'' He digs the palm of his left hand into his eye. ''Did you find it? Did you find whatever the fuck you were looking for? Did you find it in London? New York? West fucking Virginia? Nashville, maybe? I hear Nashville's nice. No, come on. I really wanna know. Did you find it? ...And I know...'' He closes his eyes. ''Goddamn it, I know this isn't fair of me. I know you had to leave. I know you needed to figure things out. I know you needed to get better. But you have no idea how much I...''

_Miss you._

''Ruby, Bray and I? We're still here. We're still_ right here_, but if you don't hurry the fuck up...'' He trails off and doesn't know how to end that sentence. Theoretically, he could tell her that he's not going to wait for her forever. That if she doesn't get her ass in gear and come back home to him, he'll move on. Find someone else to rip out his heart with a smile and a swivel of her hips. Except that would be one massive gigantic lie. He'd wait a lifetime for her. He'd fucking wait forever for her if she asked him too.

So, he says, for the hundredth time, ''call me'' and ends the call.

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.

.

Neither Winchester brother has a particularly super duper time in Jericho because as it turns out Constance Welch is a bitch and their father, as it would seem, is either dead or a ginormous asshat. Dean's hoping his father's just an asshat. Sam gets ghostie claws all stuck in him by the end of the trip. And Dean gets arrested. Because that's how it goes. Sitting in the police station, trying his best to be snarky, he comes within five seconds of having a panic attack because oh, god now he has a record and he's a loser and he wasn't supposed to be a loser anymore and what will happen to his daughter if he goes to jail?

However, in a truly shocking and unforeseen turn of events, all charges against him are dropped and the Sheriff, who has developed a completely unjustified hate for Dean, grudgingly lets him go. ''You had better thank your lucky stars, boy,'' he warns.

''Wait.'' Dean blinks and stares at the other man in shock. ''You're releasing me?''

Sheriff shrugs. ''Have to. Your lawyer told us all about - ''

''Whoa, whoa, whoa. ...My lawyer?''

Sheriff eyes him. ''Yes. She called. She told us all about that article you're writing on the missing men. Threatened to slap us with a lawsuit if we didn't release you. Woman's a pit bull.''

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''...Thank you, Ruby.''

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Dad's in Blackwater Ridge, Colorado and they should probably...they should probably...

They can't.

Sam's got an interview with a fancy law school and Dean's stuck with the afternoon shift at the restaurant. They are not bad sons. They have just grown up. The first thing Dean will do when he gets home is call Joey and get him to head on out to Colorado and Joey'll do it because Joey's awesome like that. Things have changed, you see. They're not little boys following orders anymore. Sam has a beautiful and amazing girlfriend and a future so bright he's gotta wear shades. Dean has a daughter whose awesomeness cannot be defined by a mere mortal and a...Ruby.

This just isn't their life anymore.

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.

But then they get home.

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''Jesus, Ruby, I am so glad you weren't at home last night. You have no fucking clue. God..._God_...It was just like my mom, Ruby. Just like Mom. The Demon - it's back. It's back and it went after Jess. Tried to fucking burn her alive. And it's awful and I feel like the world's biggest douchebag, but all I could think about was how..._relieved _I was that it wasn't you with your stomach torn open. ...And I know that you don't want to talk. ...But tell me you're alive. Please, sweetheart, please... Tell me you're alive.''

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Jess opens her eyes to blinding white ceilings that hurt her eyes and soft beeping. The overwhelming scent of disinfectant hits her like a wave and she groans weakly, bringing one shaky hand up to her head. Her mouth feels like it's stuffed with wool and her stomach hurts like a bitch - her stomach! Her eyes widen as the memories rush back to her. The demon! It was a demon! Oh, god. Is that what all demons are like? Is that -

''Jess.''

She turns her head slightly and catches sight of Sam standing in the doorway, looking weary. His clothes are wrinkled and he's got a five 'o'clock shadow on his face, dark circles under his eyes. He looks like shit and she wants to say something to make him feel better, but she can't talk. He positively lights up when he sees her with her eyes open. ''Oh my god.'' In three quick strides, he's got her in a bone crushing embrace and he just keeps repeating over and over again into her hair, ''You're alive.''

She doesn't understand a whole hell of a lot about what went down, but she gets the impression that the fact that she survived is a big fucking deal.

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''Come on, sugar,'' Dean coos. ''You can do it. Just walk to Dad. One foot in front of the other.'' Sitting perched on his knees on the cold floor of the hospital waiting room, he keeps a big bright smile on his face and holds out his arms to his daughter. Bray, standing on somewhat shaky little legs, buries her face in her stuffed zebra and peers up at him, blinking like the cutest fucking owl in the galaxy. ''I will buy you a _car_,'' he offers.

In response to that, she takes her pacifier off the chair and flops back down onto her butt almost like she's flipping him off.

''All right.'' He nods. ''Good work team. We'll try again later.'' He stands and scoops her into his arms, taking a seat on the hard plastic chairs. He sighs, looking down at her. He should really start thinking about weaning her off that pacifier. The intercom buzzes and a stiffly professional voice floats down through the speakers. He's not paying a lot of attention, but he catches the words _code_ _blue_ and _pediatrics_ and he flinches. He has to sigh again. On a beautiful day like today, he should be taking his daughter to the beach, not sitting in some cold and impersonal hospital. He can _remember_ the last time he was in a hospital.

That was not a good day.

The quiet shuffle of his brother's footsteps (oh, Christ, he even knows the sound of his brother's footsteps by heart) brings his attention upwards and he sucks in a breath when he sees Sam moving towards them, head down, shoulders hunched, hands stuffed into his pockets. He throws himself into the seat next to Dean without a word. Their knees touch. Sam leans forwards and puts his head between his knees, rubbing at his undoubtedly exhausted eyes.

Dean licks his lips and looks down at Bray. She stares up at him _expectantly_ and he has to shrug helplessly.

''They're saying she can go home soon,'' Sam finally says, voice ragged and hoarse from lack of use. ''They want to keep her one more night just to be on the safe side, but...'' He bobs his head up and down like a bobble head. ''...She can go home soon.''

Dean nods and tries to smile. ''Well, that's good, isn't it?''

Sam looks up with bloodshot eyes, clenching his jaw. ''Dean,'' he murmurs. ''We're back in, aren't we?''

And Dean smiles tightly, stands and says, ''Come on, little brother. Let me buy you a cup of weak coffee.'' Because there is no other answer that will make Sam happy.

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In the cafeteria, with Sam staring sullenly into his coffee and Dean trying to get Bray to eat something, Bray reaches across the table and hands her uncle her zebra. Dean's lips part in surprise. She doesn't even let him touch Bart.

Visibly touched, long fingers curled around the toy, Sam smiles an unbearably watery smile and lowers his gaze.

Dean fucking _glows. _''You're so fuckin' awesome,'' he tells his daughter.

Sam looks up quickly. ''Her first word is going to be _fuck, _isn't it?''

Dean gives a lopsided grin. ''If her first word is fuck, I will be so proud.''

It gets him a laugh.

Best sound in the world.

Later, when Sam has drained two cups of coffee and Bray is done eating, Dean finally decides it's time to let his brother back in all the way. ''Okay,'' he clears his throat and takes a deep breath, rubbing Bray's back as she dozes on his shoulder. ''Here's the deal, Sammy. If I tell you the story you've been waiting to hear, I need you to listen to it. Don't interrupt, don't make any snap decisions, don't voice any harsh criticisms, just _listen. _Got it?''

Wide-eyed and stunned, Sam nods.

Dean starts from the beginning. ''When Ruby found out she was pregnant, we had been living together for three months. We were both a little burnt out and needed a break, so we came down here because Ruby likes the beach and I like the bars. And we wound up staying. We found some shitty little apartment down by the beach and we relaxed. Which, for us, involved lots of sex and lots of booze. We weren't planning on staying forever. Just long enough to recharge our batteries. But then she found out she was pregnant. She knew immediately that she wanted to keep the baby. I was scared shitless, but it was what she wanted and I would have...I would...go to the moon and back for her. If she asked me to. So we both got honest jobs, found a nice apartment - with a little financial help from her dad - and started to get ready for the new baby. She...'' He smiles, a twinge of pride starting in his gut. ''She matured so much during the pregnancy, Sam,'' he says earnestly. ''You wouldn't have believed it. She did all of the things she was supposed to do. She read all the books, watched every pregnancy and birth video she could get her hands on, decorated the nursery... She was more prepared than I ever was. Fuck, her hospital bag was ready and waiting by the door by her sixth month. It was like her whole life she had just been...waiting... It was like she was made to be a mother. It wasn't...'' He grimaces and shifts in his seat. ''...The easiest pregnancy... But she wanted it - wanted her - '' He looks down at his daughter. '' - So much that she was willing to go through all the discomfort and the hormones and everything. Hell, she even stood up to Dad.'' He pauses and looks up at his brother, searching for judgment in Sam's eyes.

There is none. Sam has an unreadable expression on his face and he is still clutching Bart like the stuffed zebra is a Bible or some sort of anchor.

''Her dad knew about the baby from the start,'' Dean goes on. ''But I didn't tell Dad until she was nearly five months along. He flipped when he found out.'' He shakes his head in disappointment. That's a fight he'd much rather forget. ''Hey, I get why he was mad,'' he tries. ''But Ruby has never appreciated being talked down to so when he suggested that maybe the best thing we could do for the baby was to give her up, she said - and I quote - ''nope, she's ours, fuck off, gramps.'' And then Dad and I got into a huge fight and we...haven't exactly been on the best terms ever since. But...'' He looks at Bray, at her sweet, cherubic face, at her drooping eyelids, the fist she's curling and uncurling around his shirt. ''It was worth it.'' He stops talking, just for a moment, and Bray opens her eyes and stares up at him like she's pleading with him to continue. ''Lila Bray was born in December and she was healthy and perfect, and things... They changed...''

Understatement of the year.

''At first, I thought that Ruby was happy,'' he admits quietly. ''She told me she was. She acted like everything was fine. But everything was not fine and it didn't take long for her to change. Her temper was short, she was crying more than she had ever cried before, and she slept all the time, but...but she told me she was just tired. And I believed her, because I was tired too. It was _exhausting._ Working a real job, looking after a baby, paying rent...'' See, these are the things that haunt him late at night when he can't sleep, you know. The fact that he believed her. That he let her get as bad as she did. That he shrugged it off and couldn't see what was right in front of him. ''Ruby got worse fast,'' he swallows. ''She couldn't connect with Lila Bray. She couldn't bond with her. Some days she couldn't even look at her. One night, I came home from work and the baby was screaming at the top of her lungs and Ruby was sitting against the wall in the nursery just...blank. _Empty._''

_Do you know how terrifying that is? _He wants to ask out loud. _To look into the eyes of the woman you love and see nothing?_

He doesn't ask.

''I promised her I would get her help as soon as I could. The next day I was going to haul her ass to the doctor's and get them to fix her. But I didn't get her help fast enough. Later that night, I woke up and she had overdosed on the bathroom floor.''

When he pauses momentarily to scrub a hand over his face, Sam breaks the no interrupting rule. ''But... You told me she was okay, Dean,'' he spits out desperately. ''You said… You told me...''

''That's because she is okay,'' Dean responds. ''I stuck my fingers down her fucking throat and made her throw up the damn pills, all right? I got her to a hospital in time. When she woke up, she told the doctors that she had done it because she had started having dreams about hurting our daughter. They diagnosed her with post partum psychosis and as soon as she was released from the hospital, she checked herself into a mental health facility. She came home after about a month and a half and we tried to make it all work, but it wasn't like it just went away. There isn't a magical cure for depression and she couldn't trust herself around Lila Bray. Or around me. She told me she needed to figure things out. She needed time to try and find herself. And so she left. She calls to check in every now and then and she swings by when she's in town, but she's...she's just not ready, Sam. I wish that she was.'' He takes in a much needed breath and leans back in his chair. ''Last I heard she was heading off to...'' He squints his eyes and tries to remember. ''...Monaco? No. Monte Carlo.'' He nods. ''Right. She always wanted to see the world.'' He smiles unconvincingly. ''She's been fucking everywhere since she left. But there you go,'' he stares straight at Sam. ''She didn't leave because she's flighty and irresponsible. She left because she was broken and she needed to find a way to fix it. That's all.''

Sam is quiet for a long time, playing with the zebra in his hands. Eventually, he swallows and raises his eyes. He doesn't waste time with apologies, which Dean is thankful for, because he's sick of people _apologizing_ when they hear that he's a single father. Like it's the worst fate in the world or something. It's not easy, sure, but he wouldn't change it for the world. Sam looks back and forth between Dean and Bray for a second and then he straight up asks, ''Why are you telling me all this?''

Dean shrugs. ''Because you're my brother and I want you to understand. And,'' he flicks his eyes around the cafeteria for eavesdroppers. ''Because you've got a girlfriend upstairs and you're brooding into your coffee. Yeah, okay, it fucking sucks that she almost died. She didn't deserve it. None of us deserve this shit, but it's our lives and what can we do about it? Your life sucks, Sam.'' He stands, careful not to jostle his sleeping kid too much, and he reaches across the table to steal Bart back. ''But at least your girlfriend is _here._''

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.

''This is the last one,'' he tells her in the car with Bray sleeping in her car seat and a song playing quietly on the radio (_stars shining bright above you, night breezes seem to whisper ''I love you'', birds singin' in the sycamore tree, dream a little dream of me..._) ''I promise this is the last one. I know you're probably sick of my pathetic messages, but I have something I need to tell you and I can't wait for your next call or your next surprise drop in. I need to tell you now.''

He glances in the rearview mirror at _their _daughter.

''You left because you wanted to figure out who you are and where you belong. Hey, good for you. We all need to know who we are. Most people go their entire lives without ever knowing who they are, so congratulations, you're better and stronger than most people. And I can't tell you who you are. That's something only you can know. But where you belong... Ruby, you belong with me. You have always belonged with me. You've belonged with me since we were seventeen years old and you know it. And it's not going to be easy, because things never are with us, and we're going to fight all the time. We'll fight and we'll fuck and we'll love each other until we fucking bleed, and we'll do it because we're supposed to be together. Because you and me, sweetheart? We're fucking inevitable. So you take all the time you need and I will still be here 'cause this is it, Ruby. _We're_ it. We're how it ends.''

.

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Dean stifles a yawn as he deposits the laundry basket onto the couch and flops down next to it. Here is a life lesson for you: Being a parent is a lot of things. It's the world's dirtiest job (fuck you very much, Mike Rowe) and kids are annoying as fuck, but it's also the most fun you will ever have in your life and when your kid smiles at you... Well, it's all sunshine and rainbows from there. But being a parent also equates to _so much laundry._ So. Much. Fucking. Laundry. To the point where it's way past the point of excessive.

He sighs and flicks the television on, flipping through the channels aimlessly until he gets to a late night talk show. He hesitates, nose scrunched up in distaste, but eventually, he drops the clicker and lets the dopey show play, volume so low all he can hear is a barely audible hum of laughter. It's late and his first choice of late night activities would be to go to sleep, especially considering he has to work the dinner rush tomorrow night because Jennifer has a play so naturally, she pawned her shift off on him (he has learned that in LA, no matter where you do, struggling actresses and actors will follow you and they will grate you more than demons and monsters ever could), but his bedroom is currently being occupied by Jess, her one million and two stitches, and Sam and his paranoia. And the couch is not the most comfortable bed for someone who is six foot one.

So Dean's stuck folding laundry.

He gets halfway through the basket and halfway through Leno, who is not as funny as he clearly thinks he is, and then there's a knock on the door. He groans and drops his head into his hands. A knock on the door in the middle of the night is never a good sign for anybody. He runs through a list in his head. He gave his landlord his rent check. He triple checked to make sure he didn't leave anything in the dyer. What if it's Joey, back from Colorado with bad news? Or... What if it's Dad?

Dean leaps to his feet and crosses the distance to the door, throwing it open anxiously.

Well...

...It sure as hell ain't Dad.

Ruby is standing on the other side of the door in all her glory, glowing in the dim hallway lighting. She doesn't look at all sheepish or hesitant or nervous. She just looks like Ruby, still exuding confidence and a little bit of arrogance. She's standing there with her arms crossed, one leg jutted out in that supermodel runway pose that is so Ruby it makes him want to laugh and cry at the same time. She locks eyes with him the second he opens the door.

''So,'' she greets him breathily. ''Inevitable, huh?''

He folds his arms and tries to mirror her stance, but he thinks he probably looks like a tool. People who aren't Ruby can't really stand that way without looking stupid. He leans his forearm up against the doorframe and stares down at her, licking his lips. ''Completely.''

She nods, sucking her teeth thoughtfully. ''Then - '' the first trace of hesitance and what looks like apology begins to show in her eyes '' - can I come in?''

His lips thin. ''I don't know,'' he whispers. ''Are we just a stop on your way to fucking Narnia? Are you just here to drop off another gift for Lila Bray? Some souvenir shot glasses for me, perhaps? Because if that's the case - ''

''Dean - ''

He shakes his head regretfully. ''It's been a long fucking week, Ruby, and if you're just stopping by then I think...maybe you should go.''

''Dean - ''

''I can't do this anymore.''

''Short bus, can you fucking shut your piehole for half a freakin' second?'' She snaps out.

He closes his mouth, blinking in surprise.

She rolls her eyes. ''Jesus shit, you talk _a lot._ I'm here because the life you and your brother left behind seems to want you back...and because you're going to need help to find your father...and because...because...'' She falters and her eyes begin to plead with him, sad and hopeful and gorgeous. ''...I want to come home, Dean.''

He stands straight and attempts to catch his breath, all the while staring at her and hoping desperately that this isn't a dream. He looks over his shoulder in the direction of Bray's room and then back at Ruby. It's not a hard decision to make. ''Okay,'' he croaks out, opening the door wider to let her back in. She steps past him and her body brushes against his. There is a crackle of spark and electricity and _fire _that he can't ignore. He smirks at her and says, ''Welcome home.''

It's a fucking start.

He closes the door.

**end part two**

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><p><strong>AN: Look! I didn't kill Jess! You know, I think I liked writing this one just a little bit more than the first one. Mostly because I had been waiting forever to write a season one AU with Ruby in it. So, Life Number Three should be up on December 10th. So far it's my favourite one.<strong>

**Up Next:**

_Another crossover. Any guesses as to what other show will be making an appearance?_


	3. Chapter Three

_AN: I literally cried in relief when I finished this one. That's how relieved I was when it ended. I swear to God, this fucker wouldn't end. However, despite the difficulty I had with it... It's still my favourite. And it's a crossover! And I'm getting it posted on Lila Bray's birthday! I worked so hard to get this thing out for today. I'm glad I didn't fail. I'm so hyper right now it's ridiculous, by the way, so I'm just going to end this before it gets too long and babbly._

_Oh, and also? One more thing:_

_HAPPY THIRD BIRTHDAY, LILA BRAY! You're three years old today! How does it feel to be three years old?_

_...I'm just sorry your birthday present chapter is so sad._

**Disclaimer: **I own none of the characters that you recognize. I do, however, own Lila Bray. She's adorable and perfect and I'm not a kid person, bu I adore her. I love her so much. I love her so much that I made an icon with her in it. (It's in my profile and yes, that was me shamelessly self plugging my horribly made icon.)

* * *

><p><strong>till dawn, dear<strong>

_Written by Becks Rylynn_

* * *

><p>.<p>

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/3/

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**title:**_ just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me  
><em>**summary:** the step family. crossover.  
><strong>pairing(s): <strong>dean winchester/haley james. strong mentions of past dean/ruby, nathan scott/haley james. allusions to brooke davis/sam winchester. implied clay evans/quinn james.  
><strong>characters:<strong> bray. dean. haley. lydia scott. jamie scott. ruby. short appearances by brooke and clay.  
><strong>genre:<strong> family/angst  
><strong>timeline:<strong> december 10th, 2015.  
><strong>spoilers: <strong>blanket spoilers for all of supernatural and all of one tree hill. big spoilers for the eighth season of oth (that's right, right? we're going into the ninth year, aren't we? or is it the tenth?)  
><strong>warnings:<strong> past character death. talk of illness. pretty heavy angst. i totally butchered oth. oh, and lydia scott? yeah, she's not a nice little girl.

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Lila Bray Winchester is turning seven years old today and she knows exactly what she is going to wish for. She's not going to tell you what that wish is, because if she says it out loud it won't come true, but just know that it's an important wish. Trust her on that one._ And this year_, she tells herself, _is the year it's going to come true. _

It has to.

She wakes up on her birthday and breathes in the fresh, crisp morning air with a smile. She pulls back the covers and races towards the window, throwing open the curtains animatedly. Instantly, her smile dims and her shoulders slump. She sighs heavily at the sight of the sunny blue sky and the frost laced grass in the backyard. Still no snow. Well...Well, it has to snow sometime, right? It's December in North Carolina, for goodness sake.

With a shrug of her shoulders, she snatches her stuffed zebra Bartholomew - but you can call him Bart - off the bed and sprints over to her bedroom door. Before she goes out into the hall, and will inevitably have to pass by Lydia's room, she pokes her head out cautiously and looks around for the usual morning traffic. When she's sure the coast is clear, she scampers down the hallway as fast as she can and sticks her head into her dad's room. She brightens considerably when she sees that he's alone, entering the room and shutting the door behind her.

She always feels a little sad on her birthday, but she does love the fact that she gets to spend time alone with her dad. She loves Daddy and Bray time. It has dwindled severely since they moved in with..._them._ And hey, any excuse not to involve stupid Lydia is always fine by her. She scuttles across the floor excitedly and stares at her father's sleeping face. ''Dad,'' she whispers, ''are you awake?''

No response.

She frowns and puts her hands on her hips. ''Daddy,'' she reaches out to poke his cheek. ''Daddy, wake up right now. It's my birthday and you have to make me pancakes shaped like Mickey Mouse.''

He stirs but doesn't wake.

She scrunches her nose up in disapproval. Well, that just plain won't do. Experimentally, she moves closer to the bed and lifts up one of his eyelids, ducking her head down to peer at his eyeball. ''Daaad.''

He grunts and swats at her hand.

''It's Princess Lila Bray day,'' she informs him helpfully. ''There is no sleeping on Princess Lila Bray day.''

He blinks open his eyes slowly and rolls onto his back, both hands going up to scrub at his eyes.

''Oh, good,'' she chirps, cutting him off when he opens his mouth to speak. ''You're awake!'' Grinning madly, she climbs up onto the bed and straddles him. ''Dad, I'm seven.'' She holds up her zebra. ''And so is Bartie. And we want chocolate chip pancakes.'' She leans down to press her forehead to his. ''Shaped like Mickey Mouse's head. ...Okay?'' She pulls away from him suddenly, before he even has a chance to nod, giggling as she rolls off of him and perches herself on her knees. ''Also, bacon. Because..._bacon._''

''Whoa, whoa, whoa,'' he says, pushing himself into a sitting position. ''Hold up.'' He narrows his eyes and stares at her suspiciously. ''Today's your birthday?'' He shakes his head with a click of his tongue. ''Already?''

''Yes, and I'm seven.''

''Gettin' old, huh?''

''...Not as old as you,'' she singsongs.

''Ouch.'' He waggles a finger at her. ''Don't hurt dad's feelings, sugar.''

''Because they're old?'' She heaves herself to her feet and starts to jump up and down on the bed, absently tossing Bart at her father. ''Hey, do you wanna hear what I wanna do today?'' She screeches. ''I wanna eat pancakes and bacon and pie and candy and - '' She gasps loudly and falls back to her knees crawling towards him. ''Do you think we can make a pie OUT OF BACON?''

He laughs, eyes crinkling warmly. ''Trust me, sugar,'' he says wisely, ''making pie out of things that are not supposed to be made into pies never works out the way you think it's going to.''

''I wanna open presents,'' she says. ''Lots of 'em. And I wanna watch movies with you and I wanna play games and I don't want to have to see Lydia's stupid face all day - ''

''Hey. Watch it.''

'' - And I wanna go see Mom and Uncle Sammy and...'' She stops when she sees the look that crosses his face, all sad and puppy dog-ish. ''What?''

He shrugs. ''Nothin'.'' He offers her one of those sad smiles that doesn't reach his eyes. ''Just... You want to go see your mom?''

She adopts a very seriously serious expression on her face and bobs her head up and down determinedly. ''Yes.''

He swallows hard, but nods in agreement. ''Well, I can't say no on Princess Lila Bray day, now, can I?'' With a great big smile, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands. ''Okay, darlin','' he leans down to kiss the top of her head. ''You go get dressed and meet me in the kitchen. I'll make you all the pancakes and bacon you can eat. And then some.''

She beams.

So far the day is off to a very good start.

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Bray comes downstairs dressed in a purple skirt, bright orange leggings and an AC/DC t-shirt that has seen better days. She doesn't think she looks bad. Her Aunt Brooke would be appalled, but Bray doesn't really care about fashion. But when she walks into the kitchen, Lydia takes one look at her and gives an ugly snort of laughter. Jamie, seated at the table with his earbuds in, moody music echoing into the room, looks up, pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth and then shrugs and goes back to ignoring the world. Bray frowns, looks down at her outfit, and then shrugs and decides to ignore them and their opinions because they don't matter. What matters is that Haley is standing at the stove making normal boring circle shaped pancakes without any chocolate chips and there is no bacon in sight.

Bray puts her hands on her hips and narrows her eyes. These are not things that are supposed to happen on her birthday. She doesn't approve. She stands frozen in the doorway, eyes narrowed into unhappy slits, but then Haley glances over her shoulder, spots her, and Bray has to smile back politely because it's the right thing to do.

Haley's pretty face breaks out into a huge smile and she abandons the pancakes, rushing over to wrap Bray up in an unwelcome hug. ''Good morning, Bray,'' she chirps out, her sparkly eyes all happy and warm. ''Happy birthday, sweetie! How does it feel to be seven years old?''

Bray blinks and shrugs wordlessly.

Haley's smile falters a bit and Bray can't help but feel a little bad. Haley's super nice and everything; she's really cool, she's a good cook, and she's a really awesome singer. But she's not her mother. She's not supposed to be here. If there is one thing that Bray knows, it's that her dad is supposed to be with her mom and that is not going to change just because Mom's...

This just isn't right. Trust her on that, too.

Besides, Bray may not vehemently hate Haley, but she certainly hates the woman's kids. Lydia's the biggest bully ever and Jamie... Nah, it's pretty much just Lydia.

''Well,'' Haley tries again. ''How about some - oh!'' She gasps suddenly and whips around, rushing to save the burning pancakes on the stove. Out of nowhere, Dad swoops before Haley can even reach the stove. By the time he turns to throw Bray a wink, he's already gotten out the skillet, the bacon, and the chocolate chips. She smiles back at him the best she can, but when she looks over her shoulder and spots Lydia and Jamie, she rolls her eyes and huffs in frustration.

Her life, on occasion, happens to suck the big one.

Imagine how simple things would be if Haley and her kids hadn't moved back to Tree Hill.

.

.

.

Bray knows her parents story by heart. She has it memorized so she won't forget. She has heard all of the versions from all of the people. She's heard the movie version, the fairytale version, the campfire horror version, the extremely matter-of-fact version (thank you, Uncle Cas), and the 'in a nutshell' version.

Years ago, her dad met her mom on a hunt for a wendigo. She saved his life, they killed the monster together and then they fell in love. They dated for a year, got engaged and then they got married. They were awesome and badass together. When Dad was twenty nine and Mom was twenty four, Bray came screaming into the world. Everything was great after that. Really great. Super great. They were all happy. Bray remembers that they were happy. But then, when Bray was two (almost three), Mom got really sick really fast.

And then she was gone.

People try to glamorize the fact that her mother died. _At least she's not in pain anymore, _they say. _She died in her sleep, which is far more peaceful than being killed by a demon. In the end, she just went to sleep. Isn't that what you hope for?_ No, that is not what people _hope_ for. People who are twenty seven and have families and husbands and children don't hope to fall asleep and not wake up. That's _dumb._

Her mother was the strongest person she knew. She could fight off all of the monsters and demons and ghosts, but she couldn't fight cancer.

Bray can't actually remember a lot about right after Mom died. She knows she lived with Uncle Sammy and Aunt Brooke for about three months after because Dad was _NOT OKAY. _You know, what with all the drinking and the erratic behavior and the violence against himself and others and the suicidal bad stuff and the complete lack of personal hygiene. She remembers that, but she doesn't remember the details. They're kind of fuzzy. Mostly...Mostly she just remembers feeling _scared. _Her mom was gone, her father was trying to find her in the bottom of a bottle and there was no one left to sing to her late at night. It was a scary time.

After awhile, her dad got himself back together and brought her home. And then it was just her and Daddy for the longest time. And Bray was fine with that. She _was._ If they couldn't have Mom, they didn't need anyone else.

But then Haley James, divorced and with two moody kids, moved back to Tree Hill.

Long story short: After an awkward and disastrous courting period that Uncle Sammy said was ''like two middle school kids at their first boy-girl birthday party'' between her dad and Haley, Bray is now stuck living in a house with broody fifteen year old Jamie who hates the world - but he especially hates Dad for taking his dad's place and Haley for daring to date someone else - and eight year old Lydia...who is a big stupid head and should just go fall in a hole already.

It's not fair.

Dad and Haley aren't stupid. They know they're not meant for each other, Jamie knows it, Lydia knows it, Bray knows it. Why are they all still pretending? They are never going to be one big happy family. It's not going to happen.

They should really just stop trying now.

.

.

.

Her dad never lets her skip school. Not even on her birthday. Which means that, despite the fact that it's Princess Lila Bray day and everyone should respect that, Bray still finds herself alone on the playground at recess, praying that the school will flood or something so she can go home. Who wants to spend their birthday at school?

Now, Bray is not a friendless girl. Far from it. She flits from person to person, friend to friend every day and makes new friends all the time. But today, her bestie for life, Maisie, is sick at home and she doesn't feel like making new friends today anyhow, so she spends recess alone, hanging upside down from the monkey bars, because sometimes it's just nice to be upside down for awhile. She's enjoying her upside down time. Until a body blocks the sunlight and a shadow falls over her.

''What are you doing?'' An unfortunately familiar voice sneers.

''I'm practicing to be a bat,'' Bray fires back lazily. ''What's it look like?''

''Well, you look stupid,'' Lydia says bluntly.

''Your _face_ looks stupid.''

One of Lydia's grubby little pinchers comes up to tug on Bray's ponytail. With a startled gasp of pain, Bray swings herself up, resists the urge to kick Lydia, and hops down from the monkey bars, thankfully landing on her feet. Lydia smiles pleasantly. ''Oops.''

''What do you want?''

In response to that, Lydia's face scrunches up in disgust and she folds her arms over her chest. Bray half expects to see all of Lydia's equally mean friends forming some sort of bully wall behind her like in that movie Mean Girls that Aunt Brooke let her watch even though she wasn't supposed to because Dad said she wasn't ever allowed to watch a Lindsay Lohan movie. ''Just because it's your birthday,'' Lydia begins haughtily, ''doesn't mean I like you.''

''Okay.'' Bray shrugs her shoulders. ''Well, I don't like you either. Can you go away now?'' When Lydia doesn't move, Bray rolls her eyes. ''What are you gonna do?'' She stuffs her hands into her pockets to retrieve her mittens, sticking her hands into the warmth absently. ''Beat me up?'' She smiles tightly. ''What would you tell your mom?''

Lydia, full of frustration, eyes on fire, takes another step. ''You don't belong here.''

Bray rolls her eyes again and pushes past Lydia roughly. ''Okay, whatever, Lydia.'' She has had it up to here with Lydia Scott's territorial issues. Ever since she met Lydia, the girl has been insistent that Bray doesn't belong in Tree Hill, stomping her foot and wailing overdramatically about how it was her town first. It doesn't matter that Bray has lived in Tree Hill since she was two. It doesn't matter that Lydia moved away when she was just a baby and only came back last year. Lydia is still adamant that this is where she belongs and Bray belongs anywhere else. It's annoying and really dumb.

''You know,'' Lydia falls into step with Bray. ''Once my mom breaks up with your dad, I won't have to pretend to be nice to you anymore.''

Bray side eyes her as she plucks her hat from her pocket and puts it back on her head. ''You're not very good at pretending.''

''I'm serious, though,'' Lydia goes on, flicking her hair over her shoulder and sticking her nose up in the air like the little snot that she is. ''Once my mom - ''

Bray stops in her tracks. ''Why do you keep doing that?''

''Doing what?''

''What if it's my dad who leaves your mom?''

Lydia doesn't verbally answer, but she snorts and flips her hair again and that's answer enough for Bray. She feels a wave of protectiveness surge through her and she draws herself up to her full height. ''I don't care if you like me or not, Lydia,'' she warns, ''but leave my dad alone. He's been really, really nice to you even though you and Jamie are always so mean to him.''

The warning rolls right off of Lydia's shoulders and Bray, not for the first time, finds herself on the receiving end of one of Lydia Scott's powerful _I'm better than you _smirks. ''Soon, my mom's gonna realize that your dad's not good enough for her. For us. And then we're gonna go back to my dad and we're all gonna live happily ever after and you and your dad will be all alone.'' She twists her face into a nasty, smug glower. ''Because nobody wants you, Bray. _Or_ your dad.''

Bray has to use all of her strength to remain steady, the expression on her face never shifting even as her breathing speeds up and her fists clench. ''Your dad.'' She smiles shakily and a breathless huff of dark and bitter laughter practically rips itself out of her mouth, tearing out of her throat. ''You think your dad's going to take you back?'' Usually, she tries to avoid doing this. Usually, she doesn't like using people's families to mock them because it's mean and she doesn't want to be like Lydia, but nobody is ever allowed to say that nobody wants her dad and the cruelness comes out. Like a punch. ''Your dad _left_ you. He doesn't want you.''

That seems to hit Lydia like a slap across the face. For a second, Bray almost feels bad. But then Lydia recovers and clenches her jaw and makes Bray wish she had never opened her mouth. ''Well, then I guess he's just like your mom then.''

Bray recoils. ''My mom _died_, Lydia. That's...That's not the same thing.'' It's a low blow. A petty and weak insult because her mother didn't leave her, she died and there's a difference. But it still hurts more than it should. She tries to walk away from the fight, like grownups are always tell her to do, but Lydia won't let her. The older girl sees the stricken and wounded look on Bray's face and naturally, she then has to try to drive the knife in deeper.

''I'll bet she died on purpose, you know,'' Lydia seethes. ''Just to get away from you.''

And that's the last straw for Bray. There is a sudden prickling sensation behind Bray's eyes and her throat is aching and she's _angry._ She whirls around, curls her hand into a fist and throws a punch.

.

.

.

Bray doesn't make a habit of biting back at Lydia. Or at least she tries not to. She could bite back at her. She has a tongue made out of razorblades, thanks to her mother. If she wanted to, she could reduce Lydia into nothing. But she hasn't and she won't. Today was a mistake. Sure, that means taking whatever Lydia dishes out at her, but it also means avoiding the _not angry, just disappointed_ look she is currently getting from her dad.

Squirming nervously in her chair, she absently toys with the straw in her milkshake and looks around Karen's Cafe, at the elderly couple by the window, at her Aunt Brooke behind the counter. Anything to avoid the way her father is sighing, shaking his head and rubbing at his eyes. That's his disappointed sigh. Behind the counter, Aunt Brooke turns around from making coffee and catches Bray's eye. She winks, like she always does, and gives Bray one of those all knowing Aunt Brooke smiles. Bray tries to smile back, but fails miserably.

This is not the way she wanted her birthday to go.

''I don't understand why you two can't get along,'' Dad says tiredly. ''You're so alike.'' He stops suddenly and his eyes widen like he's just had some sort of grand revelation. ''...I guess that'd be why,'' he mutters under his breath.

Bray wrinkles her nose in offense. She doesn't think she's anything like Lydia. ''You would've done it too,'' she mumbles defensively. ''She started it.''

''Lila Bray, you told her that her dad didn't want her and then you punched her in the face.''

Bray lifts her gaze from her extra thick milkshake defiantly. ''Yeah,'' she snaps. ''I did. And I'm not sorry.''

''Sugar - ''

''Do you know what she said, Dad? She told me that no one wanted us. That you're not good enough for her mom.''

Dad just sighs again. ''Yeah, all right, I know the kid's got some issues, but - ''

''She said Mom died on purpose to get away from me.''

The magic words. Dad's eyes darken considerably, growing sad and angry and he leans back against his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. His jaw twitches, like it does when he's hurt or angry. He stares at her for a long time, until she's unnerved and then he leans forwards and puts his arms on the table. She grimaces and tries to avoid his eyes, certain she's about to get a lecture. ''Lila Bray, you look at me,'' he orders. He reaches out to lift her chin and meets her eyes. ''You know that's not true, right?''

She nods. ''Y-Yeah. She...Mom got sick. She didn't do that on purpose.''

''You're damn straight. If there was anything... If she could have stayed...''

Bray smiles softly and pats his hand. ''I know, Daddy.''

He settles back in his chair, looking mildly satisfied. ''So,'' he lifts his coffee mug to his lips. ''Not that I approve or anything, because I don't and if Haley asks, you tell her that I yelled and that you're very sorry, but...'' He smirks into his coffee and tries to pretend he isn't. ''How hard did you hit her?''

Bray can't help but giggle into her milkshake, the mood feeling a little lighter.

''Hey, birthday girl!'' As cheery as always, Aunt Brooke skips up to them with a dimpled smile and awesomeness held in her hands. ''You hungry?'' With a flourish, she slides the pie onto the table and seems to light up even more when Bray's eyes widen in amazement at the sight of the whip cream and chocolate shavings on top. ''A chocolate cream pie for my sweetie pie,'' Aunt Brooke announces, clapping her hands together excitedly. She leans down to give Bray a great big long hug. ''So, how does it feel to be seven?''

Bray blushes and drops her gaze, shrugging. Why do people keep asking her that? ''I...I don't know.''

Luckily, Aunt Brooke doesn't get a chance to press her for an answer because Dad goes for the pie and she turns on him, slapping his hand away. ''Hey, that's not for you, buddy.''

''Oh, come on, Brooke,'' Dad rolls his eyes. ''She's not going to eat the whole thing.''

''She will too!''

''Uh, out of the two of us here, who has to put her to bed?''

''Fine. Bray,'' she smiles once again and turns back to Bray. ''Don't eat it all at once. Save some for tonight. But remember: It's _your_ birthday pie. It's common courtesy to share a birthday cake, which you'll have on Saturday, but the birthday pie is all yours. Also, watching your father salivate over a pie he can't have has always been endlessly amusing to me and this year I thought I'd let you in on the fun.'' With one last wink, Aunt Brooke takes Bray's face in her hands and plants a kiss on her forehead. ''God,'' she marvels once she pulls away, shaking her head as she stares at Bray, sad smile flickering over her lips. ''You look more and more like your mother every day.'' She swings her gaze to Dad, rests her hand on his shoulder briefly and then drifts away from them and over to the old couple by the window, wearing her just for customers sunny smile.

Dad smiles, looking both sad and happy at the same time, the smile reaching all the way to his eyes. ''Eat up, sugar,'' he tells her, nodding towards the pie. ''We've got shit to do. It's Princess Lila Bray day. Or have you forgotten?''

Feeling a little bit of her previous excitement returning to her, Bray digs her fork into the pie. Just after she has stuffed a huge bite of whip cream and chocolate cream and crust into her mouth, someone calls her name. ''Baby Winchester!'' She turns in her seat, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk's. Clay Evans, a friend of her father's and the person who has a tendency to ply her with constant sugar whenever he is left to babysit her, pumps both fists into the air. ''Lucky number seven! How's it feel, girl?''

Bray swallows. ''Um - ''

''Clay,'' Aunt Brooke cuts in with a laugh. ''Your order's ready.''

''Dean, buddy, this year's the year,'' Clay announces on his way out of the cafe, take out bag in hand. ''Saturday night. Birthday party extravaganza. You and me are gonna rock that karaoke contest so hard. Last year Sam and Brooke may have taken the trophy home with their rendition of Don't Go Breakin' My Heart, but we're gonna blow them out of the water. I'm thinking Lynyrd Skynyrd. Maybe some Zeppelin. Anything Glee hasn't covered. Oh!'' He gasps, eyes widening in excitement. ''We could get Haley on board. We could be like Lady Antebellum. Yes? ...No?'' He waves his hand. ''We'll talk. Bray,'' he points a finger at her. ''On Saturday, I'm your genie. Got me? You get three wishes. Start thinking about them now. Seven years old!'' He throws his hands into the air once again and almost drops his food. ''Woo!''

In an attempt to appease him, she throws her own arms up in the air. ''Woo!''

Still as hyperactive as humanly possible, Clay slips out the door, pausing outside to wail on an air guitar and throw them the rock on symbol through the window.

''Clearly,'' Dad says, staring after Clay. ''His kid still ain't sleepin' through the night. That was a caffeine high to end all caffeine highs.''

Bray shrugs and shovels another forkful of pie - this time it's mostly whip cream - into her mouth. ''I thought that was normal,'' she mumbles. ''Clay's always like that.''

''Yeah, well...'' He perks up suddenly when Aunt Brooke turns her back on them. ''Quick,'' he leans forwards. ''Gimme a bite of that before she turns around.''

.

.

.

Her mood soars for the rest of the afternoon. Despite the somewhat ugly start to the day, Bray has the best time with her dad. They do everything together. They go to the movies and she eats a tone of popcorn and licorice. Then they go bowling and she lets him win and they eat pizza for dinner and he teaches her how to hustle pool and he watches proudly when she hustles some teenage boy out of twenty bucks. She has so much fun. She always has fun with her dad, but ever since they moved in with Haley and her kids it's been really hard to find time for just her and her dad. If he's not with Haley then Lydia's always butting in and if Lydia isn't butting in then Dad is desperately trying to win over Jamie. She's missed her dad.

She adores the huge over the top birthday parties that are thrown for her every year. Aunt Brooke plans it every year to cheer her up. December is not only the month with Bray's birthday and Christmas in it, but it also has New Year's Eve in it and Mom died on New Year's Eve.

Bray remembers that. She was three and she fell asleep long before midnight, cuddled comfortably in bed with her pale and weak mother and when she woke up, she was in her own room and there was chaos. There were paramedics in the house and Aunt Brooke was crying and holding onto her and Dad was yelling at everyone and Mom was...Mom was...

December is a sad month and Aunt Brooke always tries real hard to give Bray a happy birthday, which means a big huge party with the annual karaoke contest and the themes and there's almost always a bouncy castle (and somebody always winds up crying by the end 'cause it's Tree Hill and that's what happens in Tree Hill) and sometimes there's fireworks. And Bray loves it.

But the super special time she gets to spend with just her dad? That's the best thing about her birthday.

It's dark out and it's freezing when they get home. She's got her fingers crossed that it will snow tonight. Normally, during the evenings, Haley tries to get everything together for ''family'' time, but she knows how important it is that Bray gets time with her dad today, so tonight she and Lydia are in the kitchen making cookies and Jamie isn't even home. It's only seven thirty and her bedtime is at nine so Dad says _fine, one game of Mouse Trap_ and even though Bray has eaten so much junk food she feels like she's going to hurl, it'll be an awesome kind of barf because everything's Daddy and Bray time and nothing hurts and then...

...and then she goes up to her room.

.

.

.

She's skipping and humming the lullaby her parents used to sing to her when she enters her room to get Mouse Trap. She's in a fantastic birthday mood and it feels like nothing can spoil it. She makes a beeline for her closet to retrieve the game, tossing her backpack onto her bed. She's smiling as she pulls the game down from the shelf, feeling light and happy. But then she turns around and her good mood goes down the drain once again.

Her heart falls to her stomach when she sees Bart lying on the ground and her blood runs cold. She drops her game and races over to the stuffed zebra, picking him off the ground carefully to cradle him against her chest. Tears well in her eyes when she sees the state he's in.

He was _not_ missing a leg when she left this morning.

And that can only mean one thing...

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.

.

It's like a domino effect.

Lydia gets in a lot of trouble for what she did. Dad is _maaaad._ And it certainly doesn't help Lydia's case when she refuses to tell Haley and Dad where she hid Bart's leg. But it also doesn't help Bray's case that she punched Lydia in the face earlier. Dad and Haley wind up getting into a huge fight about it because he's on Team Bray and she's on Team Lydia, reminding him that Bray did punch Lydia in the face. Dad fires back and blurts out what Lydia said about Mom, which makes Haley pale as if she didn't know her daughter was Evil with a capital 'E'. Lydia gets grounded for a week and isn't allowed to go to the party on Saturday, which makes her throw an uber tantrum and she kicks things. Namely Dad. In the shin. Bray gets grounded for two weeks, but gets to attend her birthday party. She doesn't kick things, though. So point for her.

Stupid Lydia still won't tell her mother where she hid Bart's leg.

After Lydia has been sent to her room and while Dad and Haley are still fighting over their extremely different parenting styles, Bray is sitting out on the back porch with the now three legged Bartie in her lap and tears dripping down her face. It's not fair. Bart didn't do anything wrong. He was an innocent.

It's still not snowing.

Wiping at her eyes with her gloved hands, she looks down at Bart and says, ''Things would be better, you know. ...If you were here...'' Except she's not talking to Bart. She looks up at the sky and tries to see the stars through the clouds, but she can't. ''I want you to come home,'' she says plainly. ''This isn't right.''

She doesn't get an answer.

The back door creaks open and her dad's voice carries through the night air. ''Lila Bray, it's cold out. You should come inside.''

She shakes her head. ''No, thank you.''

''Aw, sugar, come - ''

''Just...please,'' her voice breaks. ''Can you just...Can you just go away, Dad? I want to be alone right now.''

She hears him sigh behind her, but he remains standing right where he is.

She closes her eyes and hugs Bart to her chest, letting a few tears spill over. ''Daddy, _please. _Go.''

''...Okay,'' he whispers. ''Five minutes.''

She waits until she hears he door click shut before she exhales slowly and opens her eyes. She sits in silence for a few minutes and then the back gate opens, interrupting her train of thoughts. She lifts her eyes, sniffling noisily. Jamie shuts the gate behind him, eyes trained on his iPod in his hands. She doesn't say anything and when he looks up, he stops in his tracks, looking momentarily stunned to see her. ''Bray?'' He takes out his earbuds and slips his iPod back in his pocket. ''What are you...'' He squints at her in the darkness, traces of wariness bleeding into his expression when he sees her tears. ''Are you okay?''

She opens her mouth to tell him that she's fine, but she can't talk around the lump clogging up her throat. More tears swim in her eyes and she shakes her head wordlessly.

He stuffs his hands in his pockets and kicks at the ground, looking awkward. ''What's wrong?''

She pulls Bart away from her chest to show Jamie his sister's horrible awful evil crime.

''Oh,'' his eyes widen. ''How'd that happen?''

''How do you think?'' She snaps out, lowering her eyes and burying her face in Bart's soft fur.

Jamie doesn't look all that surprised. ''Uh,'' he clears his throat and reluctantly takes a seat next to her. She has to bite back a scowl. She's not a monster. ''Look...'' Grimacing in painfully obvious discomfort, he puts a hand on her shoulder in what seems like it must be some sort of attempt to soothe her. ''My sister's a brat,'' he tells her. ''She's... I love her, but... Girl's a total brat. She always has been, but it got...she got so messed up when our parents divorced.''

''Like you're so un-messed up,'' she mumbles.

He draws his hand away. ''We're all messed up, Bray. Us, Lydia, your dad, my mom... We are _all_ fucked. We're like puzzle pieces that don't fit.'' He stares off into the distance, leaning his elbows back against the porch steps. ''_Shouldn't _fit. We're kinda like hash,'' he says thoughtfully. ''You throw all the leftovers into a frying pan and you expect it to taste good, but it tastes like shit and it gives you awful and painful diarrhea.''

She blinks. ''Jamie, are you _high_?'' She is not totally sure she knows what being high means, but she has heard Haley ask her son that before and she sounded really mad, so she figures it's gotta be something not good.

He tosses her a lopsided smile and doesn't answer, staring up at the sky.

''I've had Bart forever,'' she cries, crumpling in defeat. ''Since before I was even born! He's not just a toy. He's...'' She looks at him, licking her lips. ''My mom bought him for me.''

''I'm sorry,'' he says sincerely. ''Maybe...Maybe my mom can sew him back together or something.''

''Lydia won't tell where she hid his leg.''

He doesn't seem concerned by that, shrugging his shoulders carelessly. ''I can get her to talk. I'm her brother. I know how to torture her into giving up her secrets. I could noogie her.'' He nods. ''She has this thing about her hair...'' He shakes his head, nose scrunched up. ''Besides, I know where most of her hiding spots are. Bet I can find his leg in no time.''

She tilts her head to the side. ''You'd do that?''

''Sure. Why wouldn't I?''

''Well...you don't like me,'' she answers feebly.

''I like you,'' he says simply, like it's no big deal.

''You do?''

''Sure. What's not to like. You're better than my sister.'' And then he smiles at her. It's a nice smile. She can't remember the last time he smiled. He's always sulking and stomping through the house, all scowly and _grr, look at me, I'm Jamie. I'm a teenager and I hate everything._ He always has his earbuds in or he's always texting his friends.

Dad says to cut him some slack because ''he's allowed to miss his dad and he's allowed to be a teenager and teenagers are supposed to act like giant dicks.''

Haley says, ''he's not usually like this, he must be going through a rough patch with the move and everything.''

Jamie stands and tentatively offers her his hand. ''Come on,'' he says. ''Let's go inside. I'm hungry and it's cold. We'll go find Bart's leg and I'll show you where Lydia keeps her stash of Halloween candy.''

She smiles weakly. ''I-In a minute, okay?''

''Okay.'' He smiles down at her one last time. ''See you inside.''

She turns her head to watch him slip into the house, door shutting behind him, and then she looks down at Bart and gnaws on her lip. The right thing to do would be to go inside, hug her dad and ask for a bedtime story. And maybe apologize to Haley for punching Lydia. The mature thing to do would be to let it go and focus on finding Bart's leg. The safe thing to do would be to _go inside._ But she's seven years old, she's sad, and she a Winchester, so of course the safe course of action is not the course of action she takes. She glances behind her at the kitchen window and rises to her feet. Carefully, she places Bart on the porch steps, tells him that she'll be back soon, and then she disappears out the back gate before anyone sees her.

.

.

.

He gave her five minutes. He gave her more than five minutes. And he understands that she is upset and needs time to pout and plan her revenge on Lydia, but it's fucking December and it's cold out and it's getting late. Also, Haley's still a little peeved and Jamie is still determined to hate him because he's the big bad stepfather and it would be nice to have at least one person in this house who is on his side.

Dean pokes his head out the back door with a quiet, ''Sugar, it's time to...'' He trails off when he sees the empty back porch and his stomach jumps into his throat. He steps out onto the porch, eyes darting around wildly. ''Lila Bray?'' He picks Bart up off the porch and looks around the dark backyard for his daughter. She's not there. He clenches his teeth tightly when he sees the wide open gate.

He feels dizzy.

He nearly trips over his own feet as he staggers down the steps and sprints out the gate, spinning in the night, searching for a flash of blond hair. ''Lila Bray!'' He turns left, then right, and there's still no sign of her. He thinks he might know exactly what a heart attack feels like. The stuffed animal in his hand suddenly feels like a dead weight.

''Bray!''

.

.

.

She sits stoically on the damp grass and pretends she can't feel the cold seeping through her jacket and her gloves and right into her bones. She pushes herself onto her knees and reaches out to touch the words engraved into the stone.

_Ruby Winchester_

_April 15th, 1983 - December 31st, 2011_

_Loving Mother, Daughter, Wife and Friend_

''It's my birthday today,'' she tells her mother, as if her mother didn't know. ''I'm seven. ...And I miss you.'' She bites her lip and tries not to start crying again. ''A lot. Like...all the time.'' She looks down, twirling a piece of grass in her hands. ''You're supposed to be here,'' she rasps. ''You're supposed to be here with me and Dad. You weren't supposed to leave us.'' Her eyes water and she tries to blink the tears away. ''Sometimes I wish...I wish...'' She gasps and her head snaps back up to stare at her mother's name. Her birthday wish! She still has her birthday wish!

She flicks her gaze to the sky and then clasps her hands together, squeezing her eyes shut tight in determination. She takes in a deep breath. ''I wish I had my mom back.'' She opens her eyes and finds she's still sitting there all alone. No. No. It has to come true this year. Wishes are supposed to come true. Little girls are supposed to believe in wishes. She closes her eyes again and repeats her wish, more forcefully this time. ''I wish I had my mother back.'' She waits a moment before she opens her eyes. It probably just needs a minute to kick in. But a minute goes by and then she opens her eyes to nothing. Another minute goes by and there's still nothing.

Defeat washes over her in waves and she doesn't know how much longer she can fight the tears. How hard is it to grant one wish? Still perched on her knees in front of her mother's grave, she lets her head fall into her hands and she tries not to cry. But then - and it's the strangest thing - a breeze wafts through her hair and it's an oddly warm breeze. A whisper floats through the air, carried through the branches of the trees and right over to her. ''Bray,'' the wind whispers. ''Bray...''

She looks up, startled, and scrambles to her feet. ''H-Hello?'' She turns slowly when she feels phantom fingers in her hair, but no one is there. ''Is someone there?'' She asks, even though you should never ask that question because it always ends badly for the people who do. She scans the darkness for figures, but there's no one. She's still all alone. She gulps nervously and decides maybe it's time to go home. She turns one last time to say goodbye to her mother and instantly freezes up, jaw dropping open, eyes practically popping right out of her head.

Sitting atop the gravestone, one leg crossed over the other, dressed in a pretty and flowing white dress, shoulders bare, is her mother. A breeze ruffles her beautiful hair and she glows when she smiles, just like she used to. Only _more._ She's so gorgeous it's unnatural. She looks like an angel. She winks at Bray and waggles her fingers in a wave. ''Hi, baby.''

Bray's mouth dries up. ''Am...Am I dead?'' She croaks out fearfully.

Mom chuckles warmly and hops off the tombstone, smoothing the wrinkles out of her dress. ''No, Bray. You're not dead.'' She flickers in and out like ghosts do, disappears and reappears right in front of Bray, crouching down to her level. When Mom reaches out to touch her, Bray shies away instinctively. ''Don't be scared,'' Mom pleads. She lays a hand flat against Bray's cheek and Bray doesn't back away because it has just been so long since she felt her mother's touch. ''You wished for me,'' Mom informs her.

''Well...Well...yeah, b-but I meant - ''

''I _know_ what you meant.'' Mom takes Bray's hands in her own and smiles sadly. ''But it's impossible. You know that.''

''No, I don't,'' Bray argues stubbornly. Mom actually looks surprised by that. ''It's a _wish_,'' Bray says. ''Nothing is impossible when you wish it. That's why it's a_ wish_.''

Mom laughs again, but it sounds like a sad song and it catches. Her eyes glisten. ''Oh, baby,'' she tucks a loose strand of hair behind Bray's ear. ''I wish I could have stayed with you.''

''Then why didn't you?''

''I tried,'' she whispers. ''I tried so hard, but... Baby, I got so tired.''

''When you get tired, you take a nap. You don't die!'' Bray stomps her foot on the ground for emphasis.

''To be fair,'' Mom says crisply. ''I did take a nap. A really, really long nap.''

''That's not funny! You're not funny!'' Bray is suddenly having a hard time breathing around everything in her throat. ''He's supposed to be with you,'' she manages to get out before her throat closes up.

''But I'm not here,'' Mom murmurs sadly.

''But - ''

''He is supposed to be_ happy_, Bray. She makes him happy.''

''It's not fair!''

''No,'' Mom agrees. ''It's not.'' She stands straight, tossing a wistful look at the words carved into her tombstone. She flickers again and Bray jumps in surprise. Mom is sitting in front of her grave, dress pooled around her. She traces her fingers over the words Mother and Wife. ''And sometimes life doesn't work out the way we thought it would.''

''What happens then?'' Bray asks desperately.

Mom looks over her shoulder, strands of hair falling in her face. ''We have to learn to let go.''

''Let go,'' Bray echoes bitterly. ''I don't want to let you go. I don't...'' A ragged sob leaves her lips and she tries to claw at her mother's hand desperately. To hold onto this moment forever and never let it end. ''I don't want to say goodbye.''

''Bray, it's _never _goodbye.''

You know, Bray kind of thinks that's a lie. Of course there is goodbye. This is a goodbye. Her mother's all serene and angelic and dead and it's not like she's going to stick around and haunt Tree Hill forever, so yes this is a goodbye. What else could it be? She opens her mouth to tell Mom all of this, but snaps her jaw shut when something cold falls onto her nose. She blinks in surprise and looks up at the sky. White flakes slowly and gracefully fall down from the clouds, landing noiselessly on the ground and Bray forgets what she was going to say.

It's _snowing._

Mom is smiling an odd sort of smile. Like she knew it was going to snow. Like she _made_ it snow. ''We never say goodbye to the people we love,'' she says sagely, taking Bray's hand and gently pulling her down to the ground with her. ''Because they're always here with us. And I don't mean they're in our hearts and our heads, I mean they're here.'' In another flicker, Mom is standing, arms spread wide. ''The ghosts are all around you, baby. Watching over you. Protecting you. Always. You're never alone.''

''What's the point if I can't see you?''

Mom frowns and shakes her head. ''It's not about seeing. It's about feeling.''

Bray pokes her tongue into her cheek thoughtfully, reaching a hand out to catch the falling snow.

''She's good for him, you know,'' Mom says. ''She makes him smile. She makes him feel... Well, she just makes him feel. Doesn't he deserve that? Don't you both deserve someone like her?''

''She's not you,'' Bray explains.

''No,'' Mom nods. ''But no one is.'' She takes a step towards her, dress swishing elegantly. ''I need you to be happy.''

Bray looks away from the snow and back to her mother as soft fingertips graze her cheek. ''With Haley?''

''With _everything._''

''I'd be happy if you were here.''

''Baby, look at me,'' Mom orders firmly, putting her hands on Bray's shoulders. ''I would love to be with you and your dad again, but that is just not the way this song goes. And you're right. It's not fair. I should've had more time. I wanted to watch you grow up and I wanted to be a part of your life and I wanted to be with your father forever, but it just wasn't in the cards for us. And I know it's hard and I know you miss me - and baby, I miss you too - but...''

But.

There's always a stupid but.

''Haley can't replace me,'' Mom promises. ''But at least give her a chance to be your friend. She's a good friend to have. Brooke can vouch for that. Just _try. _For your dad. For me.'' Her hands fall away from Bray's shoulders and there are tears in her eyes, but none on her cheeks. They make her eyes sparkle like the stars. Like the snowflakes. ''I can't come back, Bray,'' she says regretfully. ''It doesn't work that way. I will be with you until the end of time and maybe you won't be able to see me, but I'll be here. Right behind you. But I can't come back. I can't be with your father and I can't live the life I had planned on living. The plans have changed. Maybe...Maybe this is unfair of me to ask, but I need you to accept that. Life is unfair and it hurts a lot of the time, but it's the only life you get and I need you to live it the best you can.''

Bray sighs heavily. ''Why her?''

Oh.

There it is.

Mom smiles and touches her cheek. ''I think that's a question only your dad can answer, baby.'' She leans in for a hug and Bray hugs back eagerly, soaking up the familiar feel of her mother's arms. She tries to memorize it. The way her mother feels. The way her hair tickles. How she still smells like strawberries and vanilla. Bray tries her very best not to cry, biting her lip and blinking to stop the tears. She breathes in deep. Eventually, her mother has to pull away. ''I love you,'' she says strongly. ''Never forget that, okay?''

''I won't,'' Bray swears. ''I love you too,'' she adds on. ''A whole bunch.''

Mom gives a watery smile and bends down to press a kiss to Bray's forehead. Bray's eyelids flutter closed. Behind her, she hears the familiar rumble of Dad's car cutting through the air. She opens her eyes to falling snow and Mom's gone. The tears start to fall. She whirls around and watches as Dad gets out of the Impala, looking spitting mad. At the sight of him, she bursts into sobs. She breaks into a run, jogging towards him through the snow and he meets her in the middle, catching her when she throws herself at him, scooping her up into his safe and warm arms. ''I'm sorry,'' she blubbers into the crook of his neck. ''I'm sorry. I just missed her so much! A-And she always knew how to make things better and I thought if I wished for her to come home... I thought...'' She breaks off in another round of sobs, curling her arms around his neck tighter.

His rant comes to an abrupt stop before it can even begin and he takes in a sharp breath, holding her close like she's the most precious thing in the world. ''Oh, sugar,'' he murmurs raggedly, and then he doesn't say anything else.

.

.

.

It has been a long day and an even longer night and when they get home, Dad says they'll talk tomorrow, but right now she needs to get warm and get to bed. She is curled up in her bed, buried underneath her blankets when she finally decides to ask him. He has just said goodnight and kissed her forehead and he stands to leave, but she stops him. ''Daddy,'' she catches his hand. ''Why her?'' It comes out as a squeak, but at least it has finally come out. ''What makes her so special?''

He closes his eyes and breathes for a few seconds, before sitting back down on the bed. ''She makes me laugh.''

''...I don't make you laugh?''

He smiles. ''You always make me laugh.''

''Dad,'' she sits up straighter. ''Please tell me the truth.''

''The truth,'' he repeats. ''Okay. Well. The truth, Lila Bray, is that Haley is just as lonely as I am and just as fucked in the head. You think this means I don't want to be with your mother? You think I wouldn't chew off my own goddamn arm just to be with her again? Hear her voice? See her? Touch her? I would do anything to get her back,'' he says. ''It just doesn't work that way. Haley and I...'' He winces. ''We're both each other's second choices and we both know it. But sometimes the second choice is all we get.''

She swallows and stares down at her comforter, meticulously picking lint off of it.

Dad climbs into the bed with her, lying down on top of the blankets, propped up on his elbows. ''Haley puts up with my crap, Lila Bray. She doesn't try to fix me. She laughs at all of the bad jokes I make, she cooks, she's not afraid to act like an idiot, she doesn't think I'm a loser, doesn't ask for things I can't give her, I don't scare her, and...and she _loves_ you. She's a good woman. She's no Ruby, but...''

''No one is,'' she whispers.

''Exactly.''

She rolls onto her side to lock eyes with him. ''You love her.''

''Yes,'' he confesses. ''I do. Not like I loved your mother and certainly not like I love you, but... Yeah. I love her. However,'' he brushes hair out of her face. ''You are my number one girl and if you say the word then we're out of here. I need you to know that. If you can't make this work, if you can't get along with Lydia, if it's too much... You ask me to choose and I'll choose you every single time no matter what.''

She thinks about it. About how simple things would be if it was just Bray and Daddy again. But then she remembers what Mom said and how Dad smiles at Haley. She shakes her head and says, ''I want you to be happy.''

The smile she gets in response is totally worth it.

There's a soft knock on the door and Haley sticks her head in the room with a somewhat hesitant smile. ''Hey, I don't want to interrupt anything, but I have something for you.'' She enters the room and pulls something out from behind her back, holding it out to Bray.

Bray's eyes light up in delight when she sees Bart, four legged once again. Good as new.

''I don't know how he knew to look there, but Jamie found Bart's leg in Lydia's laundry hamper. I don't know if he's missing any stuffing or anything. I hope he's okay.''

Bray scrambles out of bed, staring at her zebra friend in wonder. ''I...'' She takes him from Haley's hand slowly and hugs him to her chest. She looks up at Haley, then back at Dad, then at Bart, and then she darts forwards and wraps her arms around Haley's waist in a quick but genuine hug. ''Thank you,'' she chirps.

She doesn't think she's ever seen Haley look so surprised.

.

.

.

In the dark of her room, after Dad and Haley have left, Bray rolls over to watch the snow fall outside her window and finds her mother lying in bed next to her.

''You're a good girl,'' Mom says with a proud grin. ''Better than I ever was.''

Bray settles down into the bed and holds Bart close to her heart, eyelids feeling heavy. ''Will you be here when I wake up?''

''Oh, I'll always be here.''

''Will I be able to see you?''

Mom doesn't answer for the longest time and when she does, all she says is, ''Close your eyes, baby.''

And so Bray closes her eyes.

.

.

.

Dean is sitting on the couch writing lists about all of the things he needs to get done before and for Bray-a-palooza on Saturday. It's late and the lights are dim and he doesn't see her standing behind him, in the doorway, splayed out against the doorframe in her white dress with her hair loose and falling around her shoulders. He can't see her, she doesn't think. At least he never has before. She puckers her lips and pushes off the doorframe, gliding farther into the room.

''You look tired,'' Ruby tells Dean.

He doesn't respond.

She rests her chin on her shoulder and disappears, reappearing right next to him on the couch, so close to touching that it's excruciating. ''You still wear your wedding ring,'' she comments. She reaches out to touch the gold band on his finger and her fingertips just barely graze the ring.

He startles, jerking his hand away and rubbing at his hand. With a frown, he looks up, staring right at her. Right into her eyes.

She holds her breath. ''Dean...''

He looks away.

She rolls her eyes and falls back against the soft cushions, watching him yawn. She sits there for a long time - and she will sit there for as long as it takes - keeping an eye on him as he scribbles away, looking haggard in the dim light. She wants to touch him so bad. Just once. Just one little touch. Would that be so bad? Minutes pass and then more minutes. After about ten minutes or so, he drops his pen, lets out an exhausted half groan, half sigh, and scrubs a hand over his face.

''I remember,'' he starts, twirling his wedding ring. ''After we first found out you were sick...''

She sits up. ''_Dean_,'' she breathes.

''I would sit in bed at night and watch you sleep just to make sure you were still breathing. I was terrified you'd go to sleep one night and not wake up. No goodbyes. No nothing. And hey,'' he smirks darkly. ''I wasn't wrong.'' He shakes his head. ''I'd sit there for hours. Just...watching you.'' He laughs then, slow and sad. ''But then you'd wake up. You'd open your eyes and stare at me and you'd say ''I could feel you watching me in my dreams, you know. That's fucking creepy, Dean. This isn't Twilight. Go to sleep.'' ''

A laugh bubbles in her throat.

''I know you're here, Ruby,'' he tells the room. ''I can feel you. I can _always_ feel you.''

She doesn't say anything. She had lots of things to say before, but she can't remember any of them now. He goes silent as well, pinching the bridge of his nose and collapsing back against the couch. ''Or maybe I'm just crazy,'' he eventually mutters under his breath.

''Well, yeah,'' she shrugs. ''But that's really a whole different issue.''

''You know,'' he muses. ''You're still the only one I could ever...''

''I know.'' She rises to her feet. ''But that Haley? She's a keeper. She's good for you and for Bray. She'll be good _to _you both. I know that.''

''I love her, Ruby,'' he admits. ''But I'll always love you more.''

She breaks just a little. ''Oh, I wish you hadn't said that.''

The stairs creak softly and they both turn their attention to Haley. She's standing on the staircase, pulling her robe tight across her body, rubbing sleep from her eyes. ''Dean,'' she calls out to him groggily. ''Are you coming to bed?''

''And she's gorgeous too,'' Ruby adds on. ''You sure know how to pick 'em, don't you?''

''Yeah.'' Dean stands, suddenly inches away from Ruby. She gasps. ''I'll...I'll be right up.'' When he swings his gaze back, Ruby swears for a second that he sees her. He stares at the spot she's standing in like he's so close to almost seeing her and despite the fact that she's dead and therefore doesn't need to breathe, she feels breathless, but she recovers with a sad sounding sigh and a final shake of her head.

''In another life, Dean,'' she says like a promise. ''We could've been so beautiful.''

And then she reaches up to touch his cheek.

She never actually comes into contact with his skin, but she knows he feels her because his eyes close, his breathing speeds up and his heart literally skips a beat. She can feel it. She stands on her tip toes to lean in closer to him. ''It's okay,'' she whispers into his ear. Her breath tickles his neck and sends shivers down his spine. She can feel that too. ''Go to bed.''

He opens his eyes.

She squeezes her eyes shut tightly when he brushes past her and then spins to watch him walk away, up the stairs, away from her and towards Haley. There are tears on her cheeks. She hasn't felt real tears on her cheeks for years. She casts one more longing look up the stairs, to where her husband and daughter are, and then she turns back to the _others_ and disappears.

**end part three**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So there you go, Lila Bray. Another birthday over and done with. I hope you had a great birthday with lots of cake and pie and presents. And I hope all you girls and guys out there who are not fictional enjoyed Life She Never Lived #3. <strong>

**It was kinda sad, wasn't it? I promise the next one won't be so sad. And I felt really bad about making Lydia a giant brat. And there was no Sammy! Oh, I felt epically bad about that. In the original ending, Bray's wish was actually going to bring Ruby back to life and she was going to show up on Brooke and Sam's doorstep, but in the end, I decided I didn't want a magical fix-it fic. I wanted a fic about acceptance and all that other real life stuff. Unfortunately, that means that I actually had to cut out Sam's scene. Maybe someday I'll write more in this 'verse about Brooke and Sam and their two kids, who I never mentioned.**

**Up Next:**

_It's Dean, Ruby, Bray, and another Lila Bray 'verse character in the style of another TV show that is currently airing. Any guesses?_


End file.
